The Company We Keep
by Tomas the Betrayer
Summary: At the dawn of a new century, there is justice, and there is avarice. The fate of a fugitive murderer hangs between the Fox of legend and a lawless gang of greedy entertainers.
1. Chapter 1

The morning of July 18th, 1892, a duel was held in the streets of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico.

Exactly how this altercation began was the source of many rumors. Some claimed both men had sought the favor of a charming young woman working in a local bar. Others insisted it originated from a friendly game of poker turned deadly. No matter what story you heard, however, it always ended the same. There were, after all, many witnesses.

On that fateful dawn, enough time had passed for word to spread and eager citizens to come clamoring to view the spectacle. Understandable, since one hardly found entertainment of such shocking caliber every day. Ask yourself: would you rather dig an irrigation ditch, or watch a man die for love or honor? Any civilized person knows the answer to that. Such things often gave birth to legends, and if you were lucky, you could regale your grandchildren with the story of how you were there to see it all transpire.

The chosen weapon was pistols. A hush fell over the crowd as they watched the challengers place cocked guns to their shoulders and obey the chant of the designated official. Each man stood back-to-back and counted off ten paces. Down the empty street they marched. Many spectators recalled how handsome the combatants appeared, stripped down to their fine-quality white silk shirts, their black boots raising dust with every step.

They also took note of how the younger man was shaking, and his walk seemed less sure than his opponent. He stumbled once on the way to meet his destiny.

Tension rose as the count grew higher. Even those who lacked an education in numbers could tell that very soon something exciting would occur.

And then the voice cried, "Ten!"

Over a hundred people drew breath when the duelists spun to face one another in the cleared street, and children clutched their ears as two shots split the air with fearsome cries.

Blood soaked into a white shirt for all to see, and the younger man crumpled, his face a mask of shock and pain. His opponent stood unharmed.

Their seconds rushed forward to attend to each fighter. The excited banter of the crowd took over then. Was there to be a funeral? No, look and see for yourself. The injury is not fatal. See how he clutches his shattered arm so? He may not raise a toast again anytime soon, but he will assuredly live. Men suffered far worse wounds in the recent war against the Europeans, and returned home to tell their families about it. Sadly, there would be no tearful ballads sung about the duel for the heart of fair Carmine, or whatever her name might have been.

Donning his black silver-thread-sewn jacket, the victor handed over his weapon and strode down the street to where his adversary sat gasping and haggard. No one who watched could hear what words he spoke over the noise of the spectators. They remembered only the cool authority of his silhouette, and the way his gleaming black curls swung as he turned away.

In so doing, he never saw the wounded man snatch a pistol from the belt of the attendant at his side and aim at that departing back. Cries from the crowd came far too late to prevent what happened next.

There was a burst of white smoke, followed by a hail of red. And then that victorious noble fell to his knees and collapsed forward, his shirt and his heart ruined by a bullet from behind.

Thus did this saga begin.

* * *

The lights flickered in the Centro Cultural, indicating that soon the performance would begin anew. Audience members were asked to return to their seats at this time in order to enjoy the rest of the night's proceedings.

In a well-lit private antechamber, several wealthy men about town noted the signal and looked to their host for this evening. Don Tomás Sanchez pretended not to notice their concern. Dark eyes practically closed, the stout gentleman brushed idly at his muttonchops, a gray cloud hanging over his receding salt-and-pepper hairline. He took a long drag on his cigar and blew the smoke into his brandy glass. Settling back into one of the comfortable leather armchairs scattered about the room, Sanchez put his feet up and watched the fumes mingle sensuously over the liquor of orange and gold.

Seated to his right, plump old Don Empañada noticed the discomfort of his fellows and decided it was his duty to speak. As a contemporary of Sanchez, he could affect a greater degree of rapport with him that the younger men would never dare.

"Tomás," he began, leaning forward and rapping the arm of his chair, "Wouldn't you like to move back to the auditorium? The show is about to begin."

A swallow of brandy was his only response. Don Sanchez never even looked up.

The pall of silence that had fallen over this once convivial group left no doubt as to their true feelings. While attempting to maintain an air of gaiety and respect for the opportunity he had given them, many remained uncomfortable in the old man's presence. There was no need to ask why.

Empañada began again. "Tomás, the troupe won't begin the show without you. They are here at your express invitation! Many of the guests have already gone back in by now. If the theater master does not see you, then…"

"I am waiting for someone," the nobleman grunted.

And that was the end of that.

Don Empañada cast a sad look around at the others, as if to say, 'What can we do?' Certainly now none of them were permitted to return to their seats or possibly even leave the room. Instead they were all forced to sit in that richly stocked alcove and watch the door. A crackling fire in the hearth which had seemed so pleasant now only made the room uncomfortably hot with the press of bodies inside it. Gas lights lent a further glow on the plaster walls, and shadows stretched long across the floor.

Manuel de Flores, mayor of Nuevo Laredo, was gazing forlornly at the bar on the other side of the room. His reputation for drinking being no exaggeration, it was obvious the portly politician wished to refill his glass but was uncertain if any movement would be taken as an insult by Sanchez. Cattle baron Don Esposito continued to frown and play a card game with the extravagantly dressed Spaniard Nestor Salinas, owner of the local casino and several hotels. In turn handsome young landowner Don Diego de la Vega walked back and forth behind them, peering at their hands and alternating between chuckling and clucking his tongue forlornly at what he saw, making both players wish he would find something else to do. In a corner of the room, Captain Ljubisa Toblar puffed on a meerschaum pipe and regarded the proceedings with wary eyes. His distance from this company was as much symbolic as it was literal, his notably Slavic features and seafarer's garb making him stand out in this august gathering despite being the head of a prosperous trading company.

After five minutes, the lights dimmed again. This signal garnered even less response than the last.

But when the door opened two minutes later, all heads turned.

A short man wearing the military uniform of a colonel stepped into the room. His spike-topped helmet was cradled under one arm. A saber swung at his side, along with a pistol. Lean pockmarked cheeks were somewhat hidden behind a broad handlebar moustache while narrowed eyes swept the room as if to catalogue the face of everyone present.

Once this was done, the officer's gaze swung to rest on his true target. "Good evening, Don Sanchez."

Tomás' face was a hostile mask that served to silence any others. Still he managed to keep his voice even when he spoke next. "Colonel Mañuelito. I see you received my invitation."

"Not a very subtle tactic, Señor." Mañuelito stepped across the Arabian carpets slowly, looking at each of the occupants in turn. Most chose to avoid direct eye contact for fear of appearing guilty. Of all of them, only Captain Toblar did not look away, puffing calmly on his pipe. "Not very subtle at all."

"I do not know to what you are referring."

And the colonel stopped his perusal of the comfortable nook, spinning on his heel to once more confront his stern elder. The level of ice in his tone made up for any previous perceived warmth. "I will not play your games, Don Sanchez. No matter how this might appear to you, it is not a provincial matter, easily swept under the rug. My authority in this case extends beyond your reach. No favors, no speculations, no…" He waved a hand at the environs, "… _gifts _can influence the performance of my duties. And rest assured, I will carry them out. Until my duty is fulfilled, my men and I are not leaving Nuevo Laredo."

Tomás stubbed out his cigar in an ashtray slowly and methodically. "Then you had best look into buying a house, _federale, _because I do not see you completing your butcher's work."

"Gentlemen!" Mayor Flores interjected, rising unsteadily in an attempt to defuse the simmering powderkeg. "This has been going on for… months now! Can we not reach an agreement here? Colonel Mañuelito…" he turned to the stiff-backed soldier, "Your men are disrob… _disrupting_ the economy of my fine city! The Northern merchants, they are furious at being searched and questioned coming and going, and are beginning to avoid us for the ports! Y-you even inspect every head of cattle before it leaves! Please, is there not _something _that can be done?"

Mañuelito continued to stare down the glowering gentleman before him. He did not so much as deign to look in the mayor's direction, and when he spoke it was clear that his words were not meant to answer that man's question.

"Surrender your son, Don Sanchez, and this will all be over."

Tomás' jaws clenched, and he seemed to swell in his seat. Of a sudden his glass went sailing through the air, and the fire blazed with a whoosh when the brandy-filled goblet crashed into it. Several people sprang up in panic at the prospect of the flames spreading, but their leader rose at his own pace, to let everyone know that it was his decision to do so.

"Never," he whispered. "Are you hearing me? You will NEVER have Pietro! I don't care what he did or to whom, you will NOT have MY SON!"

"You can't protect him forever," Mañuelito snarled without any appearance of being intimidated. "This isn't about him cutting up some bootblack's face or swelling a few girls' bellies, Señor. It is _murder. Don't stand there and tell me it wasn't!"_ The colonel's voice swelled to military parade volume, and spittle flew from his lips. "There are a hundred people who witnessed him shooting the general's nephew in the back _after _the duel was concluded! You may hold sway in Nuevo Laredo, but this incident will be overseen by a federal court! No local politicians doing you favors!" A jerk of his head in the mayor's direction, followed by kicking the carpet towards a surprised de la Vega. "No friendly neighbors reaching out to the courts!" He turned a venomous eye on the Baltic trader in the corner. "And no business acquaintances spiriting him from the country on their ships while you bring this northern cavalcade into town to distract us! Rest assured, we will also conduct a very thorough examination of this circus' train, the contents _and _the members before we allow them back across the border."

"Actually," Don de la Vega raised his hand hesitantly, "I believe they call themselves a 'theatrical troupe' rather than a 'circus', Colonel."

Several of the other people in the room looked at him as though he had gone mad, and Diego managed an abashed smile before ducking his head and going back to being quietly irrelevant.

Mañuelito cocked his head at the disturbance, then lifted a finger in front of Don Sanchez' face. "Be aware of your limits, sir. That is all the advice I will give you. The suffering your interests are feeling now is nothing compared to what might happen if we are forced to remain here overlong. I _swear _to you!"

Tomás gave no response to this except to sneer, openly demonstrating his contempt. At this, the federal official turned smartly and strode out the door, not even bothering to close it behind him as he left.

Once he was gone, Don Sanchez' veneer of civility dropped.

"Of all the GALL!" he roared and kicked over the ashtray, spilling cinders across the stone floor. Striding around the snug chamber, his wrath caused his colleagues to back up against the walls. "Damn _federales, _WHO DOES THAT MAN THINK HE IS? My ancestor BUILT Laredo long before his incompetent brethren lost it to the Texans, and he dares to come into MY city, which I helped to found and make prosperous again, and tell ME how to deal with my own FAMILY?"

He drew to a halt with one fist on his hip and glanced around wildly at his allies. "I ask you, WHO does he think he IS? My God, did I not say this was coming? Did I not WARN YOU?" The irate powerhouse shook a trembling finger at the door through which the source of his anger had left. "They give guns to peasants, hang that Austrian the French tried to conquer us with, and they think they own this country! No, the old days are gone, my friends! There is no decency in the world, no order and civility, no JUSTICE, I tell you! If people like that had their way, we would all be mucking about in the fields with the _campesinos!_ No regard for noble blood or history, they think only of themselves and their short-sighted interests! Is THIS what we fought the French and Spanish to achieve?"

"_Pardón, Señores."_

It was with some relief that the others turned to see an usher peering past the doorframe.

"Señor Belasco wishes to inform you that his performers are ready to begin. He asks for Don Sanchez to kindly grace us with his presence."

All eyes turned to where the host of this gala stood fuming. Straightening his collar, which had come somewhat askew, Tomás then grabbed a glass from the table and gulped down the brandy within. With that he then made his way from the room, and with mingled levels of relief, the rest followed suit.

When Sanchez entered his box in the theater hall, a triumphal march was played by the colorful band in the pit. The audience stood and applauded him generously, and he waved a gracious hand before taking his seat high above the other spectators.

David Belasco, the master of revelry for this performance, emerged from the side of the stage, and the crowd clapped once more. An American like so many of his troupe, he was a well-dressed man in his early forties, of solid build and slightly graying hair, and possessed of a consummate showman's prowess. The smile he directed out at his audience let them all know the delight he felt at being onstage to perform for them.

"_Hombres y mujeres!" _Belasco announced in a voice that resounded through the acoustics of this chamber, "I am pleased to welcome you for the second act of our play, _The Darling of the Gods. _As you may recall, our beautiful princess Yo-san has managed to conceal her lover, the bandit Kara, under the nose of the sly and powerful Zakkuri, minister of war! But now the gallant rebel must attempt to flee her father's estate while soldiers prowl the grounds in search of his life! And Yo-san herself must bow to the wishes of her divine emperor and marry the minister's loathsome nephew! Does love have the power to challenge both the laws of heaven and man?"

He twirled his golden pocket-watch on its chain and cast them all a searching glance. "My friends, tonight you shall see these questions put to their most heart-stopping tests! Now, on this joyous and festive evening, please welcome once more the actors of Belasco's International Artistic Company!"

The lights dimmed, the curtain began to part, and once more the story unfolded.

* * *

"I'm glad to know I wasn't the only one who'd had his fill of theater," Salinas complained as they strode together through the packed streets. "The translation of the script into Spanish must have been done by a man on horseback. And their accents… atrocious! Mercy, is that what passes for high art in the States?"

Don de la Vega lit his cigar and took a few puffs, then blew out his breath with a sigh. "I've never been there myself. But I agree, all this culture can be wearing. I prefer more… sedate entertainment. A ride through the hills, the company of a lady; what more does a man need?"

"Now that you mention it… wait, come this way, there's too much commotion around there to be heard."

They dodged a group of loud youngsters running through the boulevard. The crowd had not dissipated in the slightest since they entered the Centro an hour past, in spite of the gathering twilight. The lure of novelty kept the citizens from seeking their beds as the different performers from Belasco's entourage demonstrated their talents. In a cleared ring, ladies in feathered crowns and bared legs balanced three apiece on the saddles of white horses racing around the center stage, where a bravo in a bright red shirt cracked a whip to goad three tigers to leap from one plinth to another and through flaming hoops. Elsewhere, shrieking peasant children dangled from the biceps of a strongman with shaved head and oiled moustaches, drawing amazed laughter from the crowd as he continued to balance two jugglers on his upraised palms without any visible effort.

Nestor took the dandy's arm and guided him over to a relatively quiet section of the festivities. Here the cries of the spectators were subdued to low murmurs of fearful appreciation as a blindfolded knife-thrower flung sharpened steel at his beautiful assistant tied to a spinning wheel.

"As I was saying, my girls have been complaining they haven't seen much of you lately, Diego," the bordello owner murmured in the low tones of men discussing private matters. "They value your company more than any man in the province, you know. Is there something keeping you occupied these days? Or perhaps… someone?"

"No, no, there's no one special in my life," Diego chuckled and stroked his moustache uneasily. "Nestor, you're one of the few men I can talk about such things with in public, and I'm sure you understand I mean you and your lovely ladies no disrespect with my absence. It's just…" His voice descended to a low pitch, and sweat gleamed on his brow as he puffed on the cigar. "You see, there have been a lot of soldiers in the city these past months. And many of them are known to frequent your… establishments. Men like that tend to bring trouble for men like me, especially if they think I'm monopolizing all the brightest flowers in your garden."

The Spaniard's mouth twisted, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Listen, it's true those thugs come and go at all hours of the day, but not for the reason you think. I assure you, they're not paying customers, all they're interested in is…"

He stopped, and a dagger thudded into wood a scant inch from fair flesh, drawing small gasps and cries from the spectators.

"What?" Diego looked at his comrade with confusion. "Nestor, don't tell me those federal soldiers are shaking you down somehow? I thought you had connections you could reach to in such instances!"

"You're wrong, my friend." His eye was drawn to where three men in military uniforms stood watching the proceedings, the butts of their rifles settled securely in the dusty street. A shudder went up Nestor's frame. "The truth is, they're under orders to search all my businesses."

"Search them for what?"

"Not what. Whom."

De la Vega appeared puzzled. Then he blinked, and his eyes widened in shock.

"_Madre de Diós! _Don't tell me they think…?"

Salinas spit into the dirt and eyed the soldiers angrily. "Yes. They've got it into their heads that Pietro Sanchez is holed up somewhere in one of my buildings."

"But that's nonsense!" the other man scoffed. "After two months, it should be obvious to everyone that Pietro is no longer in Nuevo Laredo! Clearly his father smuggled him out of the city sometime before or after the garrison was called in."

"I wish it were so." The crowd applauded as the knife-thrower removed his blindfold and took the hand of his unharmed assistant, bowing together and stepping back behind the folds of canvas that served as their backdrop. A few coins and flowers flew through the air, to be collected by clowns in painted faces. "Unfortunately, the old man thought there was no danger for his rowdy offspring. He didn't know the deceased happened to be the nephew of one of the top generals in the army, a man with political and military clout. By the time Tomás learned of this, the soldiers had already come up from the river. They've had the city surrounded ever since. These men aren't like the local constabulary, I tell you. Most are veterans of the war with France, and none of them kindly disposed to bluebloods and noblemen. No, I'm afraid Pietro is still lingering somewhere in the limits of town, trapped like all the rest of us."

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," a carnival barker in silk top-hat called out loudly, "For our next example of deadly precision, we bring to you a fair maiden from the far Eastern land of Shilla! Renowned for their skill with the bow, even greater than the savages who still roam the Western United States, for your enjoyment, I present the keen-eyed beauty Lady Hwa-Rang!"

He clapped his hands, and the curtain parted to reveal a small figure dressed in pants and shirt of cured deerhide. Laced fur boots encased her tiny feet, and black hair was cropped short around her shoulders. A pointed cap carried the only color in her dress in the form of two long red feathers rising back on either side. The lady herself was rather young, with a stern unsmiling face, round cheeks and black eyes that did not seem to reflect any light. She carried a short curved bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows on her back.

"Good people of Nuevo Laredo, watch and be amazed by…!"

Before he could finish his sentence, an arrow skewered the hat from his head and nailed it to one of the posts holding up the canvas. The audience gasped, and the announcer jumped.

"Ah! Forgive me, I think I'm done talking for now!"

Everyone laughed as he promptly fled back behind the curtain, and a juggling clown stepped through the opening in the flap tossing half-a-dozen apples in the air. A few seconds were given for everyone to appreciate his talent at sending the red orbs high up and keeping them aloft.

Then Hwa-Rang spun about from her position several yards before him, drawing and firing as she did. Now one of the apples did not come down, being pinned to the thick fabric of the curtain. Lest this be considered a fluke, five more arrows went winging in less time than it took to draw three breaths, and the sad clown gazed about in perplexity at his empty hands. The audience murmured appreciatively, afraid to make any further noise lest they draw the archer's attention.

More targets were produced and swiftly pinned to the curtain until it looked like a merchant's stall displaying wares. Meanwhile, Diego turned back to his companion. "Please tell me you're not really involved with this messy business."

"Not on your life," Nestor responded. "I have memories of what happened to people back in the old country who thought themselves too important to obey any law. A new century is almost upon us, and stubborn dogs like Sanchez had best look for a new bone to chew on, lest they find themselves with nothing at all."

"So do you think that colonel was right, then? Did Tomás bring this troupe down from the States to try and distract the soldiers while he smuggles Pietro out?"

"What other reason would there be for it? It's not as if he's ever been keen on treating the citizens to free performances in the past. But if he thinks some acrobats and actors are all it takes to get his way, he's going to be greatly disappointed. Not a single horse can leave Nuevo Laredo without the army inspecting it, and the caravans are no different. In a way, I rather hope Pietro does try to make a break for it. If something doesn't happen soon, this city is going to go up in flames. But that's not what really sparks my interest."

"Oh?" The handsome rake was distracted by the sight of three arrows with fireworks attached to them soaring high overhead and exploding to the delight of the onlookers.

"Indeed not. You may laugh at me for saying this, but one of my girls told me something interesting the other day." He leaned in a little closer as Diego continued to stare mesmerized at the heavens lit by explosions. "According to her, the Fox has been spotted in the streets of Nuevo Laredo!"

"Eh?" De la Vega's eyes glowed with more colorful displays of pyrotechnics. Then he seemed to realize what had been said to him, and turned a shocked expression on Salinas. "Did you say the _Fox?"_

"I did."

"You're not serious." There was doubt in his voice now. "That old legend? I haven't heard stories about him since I was a child of five. Wasn't he supposed to be the one who captured the Austrian Archduke during the war and handed him over to the authorities?"

The town rumormonger only shook his head seriously. "I don't give it much credence either, but I'm considered a foreigner still in these parts. You are too, moving here from the west. I tell you, those legends you speak of are something the superstitious peasants of this region take as seriously as going to church on Sunday! And as far as they're concerned, this disaster we're living in has finally caught the attention of someone neither side planned on ever facing. If the Fox is on the loose, there's no telling what may happen next."

"You'll understand if I don't lose any sleep over that particular worry."

A final arrow lit the entire area with golden light for a brief flash, and then died out. As loud applause began to be heard, the two men resumed their walk about the festival.

"You know, Nestor, I was thinking about checking out the woman they call the Python Princess tonight. Would you care to join me?"

"Didn't you hear? She won't be performing this evening."

"WHAT? Why not?"

"Bad luck, I'm afraid. Apparently the snake swallowed a calf sometime this afternoon. She can't very well dance with the thing when it's got that in its belly. You should have gone last night. Believe me, you missed quite a show."

"What a disappointment! Although… if she's as lovely as they say, perhaps I could offer to escort her about the city now that she won't be working."

"Don't my girls catch your fancy anymore?"

"Of course they do! But this is the last night for me to try my luck. They're packing up and heading back north tomorrow. If I miss this chance, there might not be another."

"Well, I can't argue with you there."

They proceeded on to enjoy the final round of the carnival.

* * *

For a brief time, the people of Nuevo Laredo were able to forget about the uncomfortable position they had all unexpectedly found themselves living in. Come the dawn, however, it was once more made abundantly clear that their distraction had been short-lived. As the performers pitched their stalls and rounded up their wondrous animals, grim-eyed soldiers now flocked where before there had been frantically exuberant patrons. Passers-by scowled at seeing those honest folk being detained at seemingly a moment's notice to open the contents of a trunk or doff their caps to allow their faces to be compared with the wanted posters.

Still, there was nothing that could be done about it. The military was dead-set on preventing any efforts made to smuggle the fugitive Pietro Sanchez from their reach. In times like these, it was best to see to your own affairs, hurry on past and console yourself with the knowledge that like so many other unpleasant things, this couldn't last forever.

While his extended family of entertainers struggled to pack up the tools of their craft, David Belasco could be found in the bar of the Centro Cultural. At this precise moment, he was happily autographing a handbill for his company that a sailor from the Caribbean had requested in return for spotting him a drink. When he had done so, the seadog thanked him and left to return his hotel. Belasco saluted with his glass as he did so.

When the foreign entertainer sat alone, a man who had been hovering by the entrance of the cantina took this opportunity to approach his table.

Downing the whiskey, David gave a contented sigh and leaned back in his seat. He swatted idly at a few flies that were buzzing about and observed the dismantling of his circus through the slats of a wooden blind. He gave no sign of having noticed the person approaching him.

"May I join you, señor?"

Belasco sucked his teeth idly and nodded while keeping close watch of what transpired outdoors. "By all means, stranger."

His guest seated himself, placing his hat on the table between them. A slender and unremarkable man, he was made slightly more noticeable by the rich cut of his suit, indicative of a prominent career. Whether it be politics or law was hard to say, but this sort of attire would have served him well either way. Clothes do make the wearer, after all.

The two gentlemen sat quietly for a time, their silence punctuated by shouted commands and the bellows of animals on the move.

"Did everything go well?"

For the first time, Belasco turned his attention away from his livelihood and seemed to notice the person sitting opposite him. A broad smile exposed clean white teeth, and he rapped the wooden surface smartly. "Of course. Nothing untoward in our performance yesterday at all. Everything went quite smoothly, in my opinion."

The banker, or whatever he might be, seemed less than placated by that façade of geniality. "My client is heavily invested in this enterprise. He asked me to remind you that if any part should fall through, for whatever reason, he will be pursuing every available recourse to hold you responsible for it."

For a moment nothing more was said.

And then Belasco uncurled from his seat and leaned across the table. The grin remained, but the charm was conspicuously absent.

"An actor must empathize with the mood of his audience if he wants to remain successful. Understand, he can't play only for himself, he must be appealing to the crowd! Basically, he needs to imagine himself in their place, and find out what will bring them back for a second showing." The carnival owner held up a dramatic finger in the air. "What I mean by that is, put yourself in another man's shoes before you open your mouth. If someone were to speak to you as you just spoke to me, all it would do was create needless hostility in your heart. Especially for such a proud man! After all, 'you catch more flies with honey than vinegar'. Remember that, my friend."

His companion appeared unimpressed with any of that soliloquy. "In addition, I've been asked to point out that the full amount you agreed upon will not be made available to you until after you are on Canadian soil and proof of surety has been established. After this our business will be complete."

"Of course, of course," Belasco waved a negligent hand. "I won't be forgetting anytime soon, and your client will have no cause for complaint."

"So long as we are clear. Remember your reputation is at stake."

"Something I treasure like it was my own child! Please return to Don Sanchez and inform him he has nothing to worry about. Give him my best wishes and highest regards while you're at it." Belasco took a sip of his drink and gazed into the bottom of the glass. "If there's nothing else, I believe you should be on your way."

His duty fulfilled, the emissary rose, but as he reached for his hat, the other man put out a hand atop the bowler, preventing him from removing it. He turned a questioning glare on Belasco, who still sported that phony smile.

"Before you leave us, however, I'd like for you to do something for me."

Disliking this situation, the banker yanked his hat roughly away. "And that would be?"

"Take off your shoes."

He paused in the act of settling his cap back on. "Pardon?"

A hand clamped firmly on his shoulder.

Looking behind him, he found himself being stared down by a seven-foot giant with a handlebar moustache and gold loop earrings. A thin shirt was stretched over the muscles of his frame, and sweat from the late morning heat made his prodigious forearms gleam beneath thick black hairs. Enveloped in his shadow, the designate swallowed as a pit of fear opened up in his bones.

"Take off your shoes and leave them here," David repeated calmly. "Walk back home in your socks, and perhaps the experience will serve to make you more… understanding… of other men's temperaments. Particularly my own."

A minute later there was a pair of brown loafers resting by his table, and the ringmaster and strongman were alone in the bar.

"Excellent timing, Hernando."

His employee seated himself into the vacated seat with a groan. "You are making trouble again where we cannot afford it, Belasco. I might not be there to help you out next time."

The director kicked at the discarded footwear vacantly. "You know I don't like to be ordered around. Why do you think I got into directing? If I wanted to be bullied by loudmouth weaklings, I would have remained an actor forever. Say, do you remember that performance in Cedar Springs? You know, the one where the audience heckled Marco so badly he actually opened his pants and pissed on the front row? My word, now _that _was a spot of trouble! Nothing like what we're dealing with now."

Hernando noticed a platoon of fresh soldiers marching down the street outside and rubbed a hand over his bald scalp, frowning. "The animals might be getting restless from all the heat, you know. They're probably scared and jittery."

"They'll be safe up north very soon," Belasco replied confidently. He appeared as cool and unruffled as though every inch of his livelihood was not being turned upside down by federal authorities as he spoke. "And we gave the young ones enough sedative to keep them from acting up. Cooler heads will prevail, my friend." His light brown eyes watched the disassembly slowly continue. "Even in this heat."

A waiter brought over a narrow snifter of sherry, and Hernando took a swig while shifting his bulk around in the relatively small chair. "At this rate, it will be dark again by the time we are given permission to leave. Can the beasts hold out that long?"

"They will if they know what's good for them. We've given every possible convenience. It all depends on how well they can manage to endure until we're off."

The colossal performer finished his drink and stood up. There was admiration in the way he looked down upon his longtime compatriot now. "You are always certain of yourself, Belasco. I pity any man who thinks he can get the better of you."

"If the director doubts himself, how can he expect any man to follow his directions?" he replied. Then, in a casual vein, "Check up on Anatolia after you go, eh? See if her pet snake is feeling agreeable to travel yet."

A grunt of confirmation, and that great big fellow went stalking back outside.

From his seat by the window, David continued to observe.

* * *

"Do not tell me you are 'certain', Lieutenant," Colonel Mañuelito remarked calmly as he watched the sunset begin to fade through the glass bay doors. "_Convince_ me that you are right and I should have no reason to fear letting them go."

His junior officer stood at attention in the municipal office the Colonel had appropriated as his own. A comfortable chamber once belonging to this city's deputy mayor, it boasted Oriental carpets, a bronze bust of the current president, and rows of books that filled up one wall. The flag of Mexico was prominently displayed over the door, beside which was a phonograph, one more sign of the luxury and wealth that Nuevo Laredo enjoyed from being the trade hub with their northern neighbors.

Without preamble, Lieutenant Velasquez endeavored to obey what was clearly an order.

"Sir, we have catalogued and inspected every artifact as it came off the train, and again when they were put back on. Every trunk, bolt of cloth, podium and stage prop. Anywhere they might have conceivably thought to hide a human being, as well as anything too small for such a purpose has been checked. My men scoured every single car, inside and out, above and below, including the locomotive. We looked inside compartments. We removed seat cushions on benches and looked under there. Floorboards have been pried up, roofs investigated for crawlspaces, closets and walls checked for secret compartments, and a close watch has been kept on the train in the interim. We examined the feed bags for the animals, and even searched through the coal piles for the engine. One man actually shot into them to make sure no one was hiding beneath. The animals' pens were searched thoroughly; whether straw or manure, we discounted nothing. We know everything that is on that train, from nails and planks to coffee grounds and cans of powdered milk. And we found nothing suspicious."

"In addition," he continued, "each member of Belasco's Company has been tallied, questioned and documented. We know how many people got off, and how many are on board now. The count is the same. Those who do not speak Spanish had questions translated into their native languages, and all denied being involved in any attempt to smuggle Pietro Sanchez from our borders. Belasco met with Don Sanchez, as well as some of his legal representatives, but nothing indicates that they discussed anything other than the matter of providing entertainment for the citizens of Nuevo Laredo. I interrogated Belasco myself, in your presence, and I am of the belief that his presence here is in no way malignant. As you suspected, this was merely a diversion intending to occupy our time and energy while Sanchez sought to spirit his son to safety by a different method."

Mañuelito pondered the pastel colors of orange and purple that colored the horizon. Opening the doors to the veranda, he stepped out into the pleasant warmth of dusk, his black boots clicking slowly across the red-tiled floor of the small balcony. Several potted cacti were blooming on the balustrade, and he brushed his fingers over their tiny dry petals.

"So," he commented laconically, "it is your _belief _that were I to give them free passage back into the States, I would not find myself regretting that move somewhere down the line. My superiors would not scorn me as an incompetent, and the General would not strip me of my rank for gross negligence before having me gunned down by firing squad. That is what you are trying to tell me, yes?"

Remaining behind the office desk, Velasquez understood well this situation and considered carefully before replying. "Colonel, I will stake my own life and reputation on it."

The military commander was a darkened silhouette against the backdrop of the fading day. His words were untroubled as he spoke next. "Then I will not go into the night alone." Turning around, he faced his fellow soldier. "Very well, Lieutenant. I am convinced. Give them leave to depart, and make sure they understand to do so at once, I want as few distractions to my work as possible. Have the train followed until they are back across the border, then return and prepare to take over the nightly patrols."

"Yes, Colonel."

They saluted, and the lower-ranked officer left his superior alone.

Mañuelito looked back across the city skyline. Less than half an hour later, he saw the cloud of soot indicating a locomotive was being fired up, and heard the sound of its departure as the train began the journey back across the border to the foreign sister-city of Laredo, Texas.

Soon afterwards the stars were shining down. But for all the beauty they had to offer, the Colonel could not help wondering if this night had cost him his future. Had anything been overlooked? Was any detail deemed too insignificant to warrant reporting? Could his duty still be upheld, or had he just slipped his head into the noose all unconcerned?

Perhaps the dawn would provide him with answers either way.

Recognizing that there was nothing more he could do about it, Mañuelito retired to his chambers and went to bed.

* * *

"Mr. Belasco."

The manager-director looked up from a game of solitaire he was playing in his private compartment. Standing in the doorway wearing a Japanese yukata was the exotic dancer Anatolia. Her regal Grecian features combined with a serious expression made her look particularly imposing to his mind right now. Dark eyes lined with kohl, hollow cheeks, long curly hair and painted lips; his fancy imagined that a Medusa had come to freeze his blood in the night. Given her profession and the way she was looking at him, that might not be far from the truth.

"My dear, we're all family here! Won't you ever just call me David?"

As usual, she pretended not to have heard him. "We need to let him out. He's started to thrash around in there. I'm worried he might injure Artemisia."

A troubled look stole over Belasco's features. "We'll be in America in a matter of minutes. Can't you wait until we're over the border?"

"No!" she shook her head, eyes widening with anger. "Our agreement is that I would determine when the time is right. That is the only reason I ever consented to this arrangement! And I say we have to do this _now!"_

"Yes, yes," he raised his hands in a conciliatory fashion and rose up. "Forgive me, let's not waste another moment. Please lead on."

The two entertainers then moved swiftly down the swaying corridors of their mobile home. They passed closed doors behind which several of their comrades were already sound asleep, exhausted after their grueling ordeal and no doubt eager to leave this inhospitable climate. As they did, David gave a knock on two of them. As if awaiting this signal, men emerged carrying buckets and followed their employer down the hall. Moving in between cars, their hair was briefly rustled by the wind of the train's passage. Two more doors later, the party came upon the car which held the pens for several of the animals.

Upon entering, they went immediately to the side reserved for Anatolia's partner.

Wire-mesh fences that rose to the ceiling separated this cabin into two sides with a corridor running between them. Several Macau monkeys jabbered and hooted at their backs as Anatolia opened the gate which led to her prized pet's habitat.

The female python Artemisia did not stir at their entry. Along her 17-ft. long body, a large bulge indicated the position of her latest meal. As had been stated, this lump was moving and twitching faintly, something that should not have been possible for this breed of predator's normally suffocated prey.

Belasco sucked his teeth and chuckled. "Well, at least we know he's still alive, eh?"

The snake princess flashed him a dark look and knelt to check the eyes of the serpent. Upon closer examination, there looked to be something like a tail extruding from the creature's mouth. Her perusal complete, she looked back up and nodded. "She's still sedated. Let's hurry before any harm is done."

David gestured for the other men to come forward while he remained out in the corridor with a perfumed handkerchief pressed to his face. Once the brawny men took up positions, the Python Princess carefully felt over the snake's jaws until she found the hinges. With practiced ease, she separated the lower mandible, dislocating it and opening her pet's mouth wide. In this matter it became apparent that something indeed had been sticking out, which proved to be a rubber pipe no wider than a man's thumb. This in turn was coming out of the tied-up opening of a bag.

Both men donned heavy gloves at this point. One took up position farther down the length of the python's body and dropped down to straddle it just below the evidence of its meal. He patted the bulge firmly three times, and at this signal, the struggles ceased, whereupon he placed his hands firmly around that thick body.

His associate waited for Anatolia to finish clamping the needle-thin fangs out of the way. She then moved aside while keeping Artemisia's jaws opened, and the man reached in and got a firm grip on the twine-wrapped ends of the sack. Setting his feet firmly, he then began to slowly pull back while his partner held the scaly reptile in place as best he could.

"Gently," the lady cautioned them, "Gently, now."

"It's all right, my dear," David advised from his position well-removed from this endeavor. "They've done this before, after all." He then turned an eye on the fellow doing all the pulling. "Mind you don't squeeze off his air tube, there's a good man."

Once again, she chose to ignore him, and the director lifted his eyebrows in resignation and began to poke his fingers through the monkey cage, teasing them.

After a minute the man doing the pulling held off, panting. What appeared to be a thick leather sack was now partway out of the beast's gullet, but a great deal more remained within. "It's not coming easy," he grunted and wiped his brow. "We might not have put enough grease on the bag."

"No, we probably just applied a little more powdered milk to it than usual," David drawled without looking over at them. "His Wealthiness insisted that his darling treasure not be harmed any more than he already is, so we overcompensated to make sure Artemisia's stomach acids would be neutralized. Probably made it look like she was swallowing a big white maggot, really."

"Keep going," Anatolia insisted, worriedly stroking the python's hide with her thumbs. "If she wakes up, she might start swallowing again on reflex."

Mindful of their peril, the workers once again began to repeat the procedure. More of the sack came into view, and as it did, the contents started up with their struggles once more. A faint gasping sound could now be heard.

"Stop it!" And Anatolia smacked the bag roughly.

"Can you hear us in there?" David called. "Don't go making a fuss, now, you're almost free." When the convulsions died down, he indicated once more. "Proceed."

Over half the bag was now out. With practiced care, the handlers continued to perform their parts, withdrawing the snake's meal while keeping either from being harmed. After about fifteen minutes of cautious coaxing, a three-foot long duffle bag slithered completely into the dim light of the pens and was dragged clear of its living confinement.

Without waiting for an order, the first man brought a pair of clippers from his back pocket and cut the twine holding the sack closed. At this point it began to thrash about violently, and everyone close drew back.

A pair of hands burst up through the top, grasped the sides and thrust out violently. The leather gave way.

Pietro Sanchez huddled naked before his rescuers. He was trembling, sweat-soaked and wild-eyed. As they watched, he desperately pulled the rubber tube out of his throat and flung it away, gagging somewhat before proceeding to cough violently. One of the men patted him firmly on the back, and after a few seconds, the wretched escapee managed to draw sufficient breath to find his voice.

"How… _long?"_

"Around eighteen hours," David supplied helpfully. At seeing the way the teen's eyes widened, he rushed to explain. "I know, longer than we told you. But the military was very thorough in their inspections of us, I'm afraid. Far more than we estimated. Still, it's all over now."

"S… safe…?" the stowaway gasped.

"You're a wee bit ahead of schedule, actually," Belasco informed him as he stood in the doorframe. "We should be crossing into United States territory any minute now, however. We'll switch tracks in Laredo and continue the rest of the way north from there."

With some help, Pietro found his feet. David took a moment to study this youngster he had never met. Perhaps seventeen years old at most, the son of Don Sanchez was not as he had imagined. He looked unhealthy, even for a man who had just spent almost a full day inside a constrictive reptile's guts. Never particularly robust, his frame was now wasted, like he hadn't had a good meal in some time. Once carefully-trimmed cheeks were sunken and darkened by what must have been a few weeks of stubble. His hair was also longer than what his wanted poster had depicted. All in all, nothing special to speak of.

"What a handsome young man!" the veteran showman proclaimed. "Certainly that is a face worth a half-million dollars. I can see your father's strength and fortitude dancing in your eyes!"

More like trauma and desperation, really, but who cares?

Sanchez was handed a towel to wipe himself off, and once having done so, the workers produced some clothes and shoes for him. He put them on with unsteady hands, flinching and favoring one shoulder heavily. The telltale mark of a bullet wound marred his skin on that side.

Pietro cast shuddering glances at the slumbering beast which had helped him to elude his pursuers. "I thought…" he gasped while trying to knot his trousers, "I thought I was going to die… in that filthy thing! S-sometimes I felt like it was still swallowing me, or that… I couldn't b-b-breathe, I wanted to get out, but I could hear what was going on around me, and I was so afraid I had to keep perfectly still like she said, and the whole time I thought it was going to be… the end for me!"

"No, certainly not!" Belasco came forward and clapped a hand on that shuddering shoulder, noticing how the boy winced when he did. "Didn't we tell you? You are not the first honest man we've smuggled out this way. You owe our cold-blooded companion your life, actually."

Pietro finished dressing and started for the door. "Just get me to my cabin!" he cried. "I don't want to have to see that monster ever again!"

He thrust a violent finger at Artemisia. Stroking the elongated form, the snake's owner did not try to hide her contempt for him.

Before he could leave the cell, however, Belasco stepped in front of him smiling.

"Actually, young man, you're going to have to wait here for a brief time."

When Pietro opened his mouth to speak, David cut him off with a look that brooked no argument. "Like I said, you're out somewhat ahead of schedule. And right now, there's a complement of Mexican soldiers on horseback following along our little steam engine. It's still light outside, and if any of them catch sight of you through the windows, or if they simply notice that four people walked into this car and five came out, then the curtain will fall on your escape attempt, I'm afraid. So for the time being, you'll have to remain in hiding right here. At least until we're over the U.S. border, that is."

Their living contraband gaped about disbelievingly. Upon seeing the stern, serious faces of the other four people in that room, it became obvious that this was not up for debate.

"Just pull up a seat, stout fellow, you must be starving!" At a gesture from their ringleader, one of the men produced a plate of cold chicken and boiled potatoes from the bucket he brought in, along with a canteen of water. The other fished up two stools and set them out. Belasco flopped upon one of them, swinging his gold watch and grinning gamely. Anatolia remained down beside her python, while the men took up places by the door. Seeing himself firmly opposed from leaving, Pietro accepted the plate of food and took the seat across from his host. It suddenly dawned on him that he was ravenous. Having not eaten all day, he set about wolfing down his meal.

"It'll be over before you know it," David insisted pleasantly. "While we wait, perhaps you'd care to tell us about yourself? I for one would like to know a bit more about what stars might have brought us to this fated meeting!"

Swallowing down cold meat and not trying to equate it with the sensation of having been eaten alive only hours past, the son of Don Sanchez looked about miserably.

"I wish I knew…"

The train's whistle cut off anything else he might have said, as their conveyance hurtled on into the deepening gloom of evening.

* * *

Atop a hillock overlooking the town of Nuevo Laredo, a figure mounted on a great midnight stallion noted the train as it departed. A contingent of cavalry rode in escort on either side of the tracks. No doubt a last-minute precaution against treachery.

Of course, he suspected that hand was already played.

His steed whickered softly beneath him, and he laid a black-gloved hand on its neck soothingly.

"Almost, _amigo, _almost."

The train was still well away from his position. The time would soon come. Once the Mexican authorities were out of the way, then he could play his part. He must be prepared. After they crossed the border, he would have to strike when it seemed like they had made good on their escape. That was when their guard would be at its lowest.

With that, the masked avenger turned his horse's head and spurred it on across the established line between nations.

Like his predecessors long before him, Zorro answered the call for justice.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't think of any explanation," Pietro murmured. He looked on the verge of tears, and hung his head shamefully. "I barely even remember what happened. We were drinking, you see. Enjoying ourselves. It went on all night and into the morning, actually. We had good reason to celebrate. Ramón had finally met with success in his proposal to Señorita Gilberto, and I had bought a new horse, such a beauty, you should have seen him!" For a moment his face lit up at the memory, before sinking back into desolation. "Now I will never have the chance to ride upon his back. I can… never go home."

As if finally realizing it for the first time, the boy began to weep. "Ah, saints above!" he sobbed and clutched his head. "I wish to God none of this had ever happened!"

Stroking her drowsy pet, Anatolia blew out her breath to show what she thought of this emotional outpouring. Belasco winced and mimed for her to keep silent. When her face clearly demanded a reason, he raised his hands and tilted his head in a gesture of resignation, as if to say, '_What's the harm? Let him talk_.' She frowned but made no rebuff. Satisfied, the veteran actor cast a surreptitious glance at his watch and then went back to playing the attentive listener.

The Sanchez heir took a long swig of water. Dropping the canteen with a gasp, he shuddered and closed his eyes. "I can't even remember the man's face." His voice was a defeated whisper. "Do you believe that? Much as I try, I can't bring anything about him to mind. It shouldn't be like that. A man's face… it shouldn't just slip away."

"Especially not if you killed him," Anatolia pointed out calmly.

At her words, Pietro went a different shade of pale. His eyes snapped open, going very wide. For a moment David feared he might start screaming like a lunatic.

Then the ashen youth spun about and fell to his knees, grabbing the startled woman's hands. Both assistants swiftly rose in her defense, but Belasco signaled them to stop.

"I swear to heaven, I didn't know what I was doing!" Pietro moaned. "On my immortal soul, I didn't _know! _I had so much to drink, he… he should have seen that! He shouldn't have challenged me to a duel, I was in no fit state for it! The fault was his! God have mercy on him!"

"Don't _touch_ me!" Anatolia pulled herself free of the murderer's grip. When he reached for her again, she quickly stood up and backed away. "I am not your mother or your priest, boy! You'll get no sympathy from me!"

Sanchez dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball, sobbing, "God forgive me, God forgive me…"

"Calm down, everyone calm down," Belasco spoke without moving a hair from his seat. His soothing, professionally trained voice seemed to quell the ardor of all concerned. "Anatolia, my dear, please forgive the young master. He's had a very rough couple of months. And Pietro, do take your seat again. You're safe from all harm with us, rest assured."

Their anxious passenger did as he was asked, moving back to his seat and hunching down miserably upon it.

Belasco leaned forward and patted him on the knee. "Now, then, leave off those grim thoughts for a while. Tell you what, why don't you satisfy our curiosity about something else, hmmm?"

A confused look was sent his way. "What about?"

"Well, I know Anatolia might have heard, but perhaps you'd like to tell us where exactly you've been hiding these past few months. Wait, wait," and he lifted a finger just as Pietro was about to respond. "Please let me guess. Now, then…" Belasco stroked his chin and studied that shuddering form intently. "It would have to be in a location that offered a measure of safety and comfort while providing the basic necessities for living. Somewhere it wouldn't arouse suspicion should friends of your father be seen coming and going. A site whose regular occupants could be relied upon not to crack under the strain of a federal manhunt and reveal the location of their charge. If I were to make a reasonable deduction about the safest place for a fugitive to seek sanctuary in any city, it would be…!"

"The church."

All heads turned to Anatolia, who stood with arms crossed leaning against a wall. When Belasco glowered at her, she merely lifted her eyebrows. "Must you turn everything into a performance?"

"It keeps me young," he retorted crossly before returning his attention to Pietro. "Well, is that right?"

"Yes," he nodded in confirmation. "I was sheltered at La Iglesia Del Hijo Santo, under the care of Padre Juan Esposito."

David smiled to himself. That certainly explained all the unexpected piety.

"My father made the arrangements. He is the church's most generous supporter, they owe him a great deal. There is a secret door located in the temple sanctuary. It leads beneath the cells of the priests and off to an underground room near the animal pens. Padre Juan told me it was originally used to hide farmers who had been accused of false crimes so the government could take control of their land. The soldiers wouldn't be able to desecrate the church while searching for me like they would anywhere else, so it was the safest place of all."

A sudden lurch of the train caused them all to lean forward slightly, and Pietro to almost fall off his seat, catching himself on one hand. When the motion subsided, he resumed. "The Padre was the only one who knew I was there. He counseled me while I was living in that hole in the ground. We read the Bible together, and he said that I needed to show attrition for the mistakes in my life. I… felt remorse for what I had done. Padre Juan thought I should join holy orders to express my penance, forsake the world of men and embrace God for having spared my life. It sounded like a good idea. When my father came to church on Sundays, they would meet in the confessional, and discuss what to do there."

"I never really knew what went on between them. But two weeks ago when the Padre came back, he said my father had rejected the idea. They had another plan to see me safely out. A circus would come to town and…"

"Theatrical troupe."

Pietro looked up. "Pardon?"

"We are a theatrical troupe," Belasco emphasized pointedly, "not a _circus_."

A monkey leapt up on the grille behind him and bared its teeth.

"Oh."

The lad looked around the darkening room. His companions were becoming shadowy figures as the sky dimmed outside and light no longer shone through the cracks in the wood. "Well, anyways, we waited a week for you to get here, and learned what to do. Padre Juan was supposed to wait until he saw a single golden firework go off at night during the performance. That was the signal for me to go out into the crowds and make my way to the Snake Princess booth. Afterwards…"

"We know the rest," Belasco interrupted. He stretched out his arms overhead and considered the situations. There were some holes in the story he had just heard. The python Artemisia had indeed ingested a calf earlier that selfsame evening as was widely rumored, but only to lend credence to the lie in case the soldiers were keeping a close watch. On the evening of their final performance, Anatolia coaxed her trained pet into disgorging its lunch. The remains were washed free of acids, dismembered and taken to be fed to the tigers later on. After Bong Cha sent up the signal during her archery display, the attentive priest informed Pietro, who blended into the festive throngs and found his way to Anatolia's tent. He had been informed of their plan and made to understand that by this point, whatever misgivings the idea of being eaten might engender, he had no choice but to go along with it. There was simply no turning back.

Sanchez Senior had indeed contacted him about a month ago. Their negotiations had lasted for some time, as the penurious old blowhard tried to bargain Belasco down on the asking price. But in this he had remained firm. The cost of transporting his offspring to safe territory would be half a million U.S. dollars. Tomás had stubbornly refused to concede, until two weeks ago, when he abruptly telegraphed to give his consent.

On their first face-to-face meeting, Sanchez informed him that he had been prompted to agree to Belasco's demands by a visit to church one particular Sunday. A certain priest had revealed Pietro's desire to become a member of the cloth rather than continue in hiding. Tomás had been furious at the idea. He declared that this had been a thinly veiled tactic by the Church to convince him to donate all his land and holdings to them after his passing, owing to his only heir being an anointed brother. David saw the reasoning: Better to lose part than whole. And to be honest, he had to agree with that assessment. Not a particularly religious man by nature, he did have a very great sense of where profit could be made. It was entirely possible that this Padre Juan had gone into this affair with the intention of securing a huge windfall for the Catholic Church, no doubt netting himself a promotion and even a transfer to cooler climes in the process.

Fortunately, the greed of God's Holy Church had ultimately served to line Belasco's pocket instead. The Lord certainly worked in mysterious ways.

The boxcar rattled along the tracks. Those familiar with its movements could tell that the engineer was gradually decreasing their speed, which meant that they were already back in the United States and headed into the station. The train's whistle confirmed this. All members of Belasco's company breathed an inward sigh of relief at this realization.

"And that's all the time we get for storytelling," the director declared. He stood up, and the rest followed suit. Pietro gazed around uncertainly but scrambled to his feet all the same. They trooped out of the animal pens and back into the living quarters. The brief time between cars revealed that they were indeed on the American side of the border, judging by the buildings and people still about at this hour.

The train was slowing as it approached the relay station. Belasco mimed for silence, then led them across two more cars. Blinds were pulled down over the windows. In addition, all oil lamps in the passenger cars had been lowered earlier, plunging the train's interior into darkness. Wearing workman's clothes similar to the other men with them, Pietro would not stand out in any particular way should they encounter someone in the halls. As it turned out, these precautions were unnecessary. No one else was about at this time.

At last they came to a particular compartment. A quick scratch with his finger on the door saw it come open almost immediately, and a hulking figure loomed large in the square of light. Sanchez cringed back at the sight, but the two men behind him prevented any attempts at flight.

Belasco gestured towards the giant. "Hernando," he whispered by way of introduction. "You'll be staying with him for the rest of our journey. He will explain the rest."

No more words were spoken. With some trepidation, the spindly fugitive shuffled forward. His new host stepped aside to allow him to enter the cabin. The door closed behind him securely.

And it was done.

The remainder of their party dispersed back to their own rooms. Before returning to his own comforts, however, David made the trip to inform the last member of their group of what had happened.

His train had come to a full stop by the time he reached the door. He scraped on its surface lightly. _"Sheelay hamnida?"_

After a second, the portal slid open. Bong Cha, known to their public as Lady Hwa-Rang, gazed up at him with that cold stare. She studied her employer's face, then moved aside indicating he should enter.

"_Kamsa hamnida,"_ he thanked her, and stepped in.

Bong Cha closed the door. The lamps were still lit in her tiny quarters, but the blinds were drawn. Several sticks and a knife were laid out on the bed, indicating she had preoccupied herself with fletching while waiting for news.

David sat down on a chest across from the cot. The archer resumed her seat opposite him. Picking up a slender shaft, she once more began to pare down its length. "What is wrong?"

Her words were spoken in Korean, a language that he had some rudimentary facility for as a result of living in California for the past few decades. Combined with his more comprehensive knowledge of Chinese, Belasco was the only person in their family of entertainers capable of carrying on a full conversation with this close-mouthed young woman. Bong Cha knew enough of the latter language to understand when his Korean failed him, and as a result, he was the closest thing to a friend she had among them.

It also made her somewhat dependent upon him, which David didn't mind having in this temperamental and often contrary pack of ego-inflated maniacs he chose to spend his days with. The rest had learned early on not to approach her for anything less than essential. The Dragon Lady, as they called her, was not here for the pleasure of their company.

"The boy is safe, but I am worried," he responded to her question.

She sighted along the length of the arrow with one eye. "Why? Are we not safe?"

"Not that." He leaned forward slightly. "Money."

Bong Cha put down the quarrel and regarded him with her flat black eyes. "He cheats us, then?"

"Maybe." The master showman fingered his golden pocket-watch. Any measure of humility and good humor had drained from him in the past few seconds, and his gaze was just as hard as hers. "The father makes a promise to me, but he is greedy. Maybe when his son is in Canada, he will not send the money. Or just not all. Always a problem, with this kind of man. We cannot trust him. He is made of…"

His vocabulary failed him at this point.

"_Jokkah ji mah," _she supplied.

"Yes. 'Bullshit'. Thank you."

The girl crossed her legs beneath her and played with the knife in her hand. "I get $80,000 this time. Enough for my family to live on all their lives, maybe even to come live here. You promised me, he promised you. No cheating either way. Or someone dies."

Belasco got the uncomfortable feeling she included him among the potential targets should that happen. He had never asked what brought her to America, but the impression had always been it wasn't peaceful. Perhaps somewhere in Korea, there was another general who had lost his nephew, son, or whatever. If so, the culprit had made good on her escape. And she had come to be someone he could depend on to do those things others would not.

"I need you to use your eyes, Bong Cha. Watch to see no one tries to cheat us. If that happens, the price goes up. But the boy must live, until we have our money. That does not change. You see?"

"I do." The knife rose and hovered steadily right in front of his left eye socket. Belasco had to struggle to keep from flinching until she withdrew it and pointed the weapon at her own face. "Eyes open."

"Yes." He was sweating slightly as he arose. "Goodnight, then."

"_Anyonghi jumeseyo." _She returned to fletching, the blade making a sound like scraping bone as it went down the shaft.

David Belasco shut the door securely behind him. He retired to his private cabin feeling more at ease.

* * *

Laredo proved to be a problem. On the one hand, they probably wouldn't unload Sanchez there, simply because it was too close to Mexico and word of the reward might have stretched across boundary lines. But on the other hand, he couldn't infiltrate the train now because if Pietro managed to escape in the confusion, he would be lost in the city's inner workings in no time. Hunting him then would be neither quick nor easy.

Which wasn't to imply that what he had planned would be a breeze. No, his best chance of getting the boy out alive would have to come once they were well clear of the city limits.

Thus Zorro stayed close to the station, watching to be absolutely certain no one disembarked. The lines were shifted. Their course lay north then, as he had expected. He could conceivably get on board now, but that would mean abandoning his own method of escape.

As the locomotive carrying his target began to peel away from its berth, the masked avenger dropped down from the rooftop and landed in Tornado's saddle. A flick of the reins saw those pitch-black partners galloping through the streets, riding out ahead of the train while maintaining distance so as not to be spotted.

His message had been sent. Now all that remained was to get the timing down.

* * *

About to ask a question, Pietro stopped short when the towering Hernando turned back around and fixed him with a ruthless look. At once his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth and stuck there.

"Sit," the big man grunted, indicating the bed. He complied, while Hernando remained standing.

"Here are the rules," his oversized roommate murmured softly. The deep voice, the way he pronounced his Spanish and the low volume made it difficult to understand. But Pietro recognized the importance of what lay in store for him, and so he listened attentively as the sound of locomotives cooling down came from all around. "We arrive in Winnipeg, Manitoba within four days of travel at most. You do not leave this cabin during that time _for any reason."_

Suddenly the Mexican criminal felt a very pressing need to use the bathroom. As if sensing this, Hernando said, "There is a chamber pot by the door, and you use that to do your business, then dump it out the window. Wash with soap and water from the jug, same for your bath." One great hand indicated where all this was to be found. "I will bring food in to you. My meals are large enough no one will notice if there is extra. No one will bother us. They think I have chronic headaches and do not like to be disturbed at times. There are no conversations permitted, no loud noises when I am not here, and no moving about either." He paused then. "Do you have any questions?"

"Uh." Pietro's eyes darted around the small chamber. He kept his voice barely above a whisper. "Wh-why am I still hiding? Is someone not supposed to know I'm here?"

"On this train, only six people are aware that you are onboard. The rest know nothing about our arrangement. That is how it has always been. We split the money among us. Ten percent for Belasco, ten percent for the troupe's account, and the rest goes to us."

A quick mathematical calculation was made then that caused Pietro to doubt he had heard right. "Wait… ten percent for…" He checked to make sure he was correct. "But that means… you get six percent more than Belasco. Why is that?"

"He makes more than us on the business side of things already," the performer replied. "This way nobody is upset about him getting too big a slice. Keeps the family happy. You got more questions?"

Absolutely nothing else came to mind.

"No? Then go to sleep. You get the bed. I sleep on the floor beneath. Good for my back, and that way you don't step on me in the morning. Okay?"

Pietro nodded rapidly.

"Good. Lights out, then."

He capped off the oil wick, and before the other man could say a word, Hernando dropped down to the floor and crawled under the cot, brushing the edge of the blanket aside along with Pietro's legs. The sheet fell to cover his nook. There was the sound of him getting settled in that small space, and then only quiet.

With nothing else to do, Pietro cautiously knelt by the side of the bed. Clasping his hands over the sheets, he coughed and whispered, "Bless us, O Lord, You who are…"

A deep voice rumbled below him. "No prayers."

"But I have to…!"

The hem of the sheet lifted, and a single eye glowered out.

Without further protest, Sanchez hopped up on the mattress. His racing heart seemed so loud he felt certain the great brute would call him out on that as well. But nothing more came.

Feeling sick with equal parts fear and longing for home, the lonely youth recited his prayers to himself. As his head touched the pillow, he felt certain that any rest would be a long time coming this night.

Two minutes later saw him fast asleep. The train was moving again soon after that.

* * *

Like his namesake, Tornado tore across the Texas prairies. Laredo diminished behind them in the distance. There was no moon that night. Whether this boded well for the criminals or the man pursuing them had yet to be fully revealed. For the time being, Zorro took advantage of the foreboding gloom. Coupled with his dark raiment, it meant he was less likely to be spotted making his approach. And stealth was a favorite weapon of his.

Thus the midnight stallion and his rider sped along a parallel route to the train tracks. At a kick of his heels, Zorro's steed surged forth at even greater speeds than before. As a result, the metal caterpillar that had been slowly passing them for a short time now began to keep level with their pace. They bridged the distance swiftly, and not for the first time that legendary figure gave thanks to the lineage that had fostered such a magnificent animal as this. The exhilaration of chasing down the train was getting to him. For a space he imagined himself a knight on a charging destrier, bearing down on a great long fire-breathing dragon. It made him laugh to think it, this reminder that at heart he remained a boy on an adventure.

Well, there were worse things to be.

Galloping along, the two of them at last drew near the caboose. Had to start from the back to make certain everything went well. Tornado drew near, and Zorro loosened his boots in the stirrups. The train was picking up speed now. He didn't permit himself to think about what might happen to him if he missed his timing, or if his horse happened to stumble. The best attitude in dangerous situations was optimism.

With this in mind, he stretched out a black-gloved hand and reached for the railing on the back of the caboose. Everything was jumping around; his perch, the target, and so the skilled acrobat tried to make his body be the medium between them, matching his movements to keep in time with the train. This was a precarious position he was now in. One last stretch, and…

The caboose lurched suddenly to one side. Zorro's clutching hand caught only air, and he felt himself falling.

There was nothing left to do but jump. So he did.

A black cape billowed like angel's wings as that figure of myth left his horse's saddle, all his concentration, and even his life, focused on a metal bar. He hung suspended in midair, truly flying for less than a single heartbeat.

And then his fingers found their purchase. Zorro was pulling himself onto the swaying balcony soon after. He gave a short sharp whistle once his position was secure. Behind him, Tornado slowed his gait appropriately, gradually diminishing in the wake of the iron horse. Wouldn't do to have him get tired out trying to keep up. They would catch one another again further down the line. Assuming, of course, everything went as planned. And speaking of which…

There were thirteen cars attached to this steam engine counting the caboose. Three of them were devoted to the animals; horses, tigers, even monkeys, from what he remembered. No way to know whether Pietro was in a compartment with the rest of the company or if they had him secreted away in a hidden spot. And it wasn't as though he could go knocking on doors.

Well, when it comes down to it, there's only one sensible way to find out.

I'll ask the man in charge. Him, at least, I know where to find.

* * *

David had decided to go to bed early this night. He assured himself he would rise before the dawn and make up for any lost time then. One could accomplish a great deal if you were only willing to commit to certain things, like a schedule.

Or crime, he reflected as he extinguished the lamp and retired to bed.

His dreams involved motion, sliding downward in what looked to be a huge quarry. But the only thing coming out of it was mud. Misery was on the faces of every worker he could see. David hated that, reminding him as it did how so many people he met nowadays seemed absolutely wretched in their life's pursuits. Fortunately, he had decided early in his career to only do those things that brought him joy. It made one's days remarkably easier.

While he was involved in these ruminations, his progress down continued. Where am I headed? To Hell, maybe? Am I to be damned? Strange, it's not frightening. I feel quite calm. Look, the fires are growing brighter, but I feel no heat. Perhaps the pits are not quite as tormenting as we have been led to believe. Certainly wouldn't be the first time they tried to frighten us into doing what we're told without question.

Now it's quite bright. Bright, the light, it's…

His eyes were closed. He was seeing the light through his eyelids.

I'm not dreaming.

Belasco came awake. The ceiling overhead was visible to him, more than should be in the dark. That's because it's bright in here. Did I forget to blow out the lamp? No, I'm certain I did, you have to be careful, traveling in a big wooden box, fires could spread and…

"Good evening, _Señor _Belasco."

The director sat bolt upright, whipping around to identify the source of that voice. The lamp's been lit, he realized that instantly, filling his small office with golden warmth.

His eyes went wide when he caught sight of the living shadow sitting before his desk.

It was like something out of his more fanciful plays, the kind designed to appeal to the child in every one of us. Here was a swashbuckler type if he ever saw one. There was a sword buckled at the waist, and what might be a whip as well. Boots and pants, gloves and shirt, they were all black, as was the long cape which fell from his shoulders. A hat of the same hue, like the type preferred by the Mexican bravoes, adorned his head, and a mask covered his face. Belasco got the quick impression of a moustache over a frowning mouth before his attention was completely drawn to the eyes that stared at him so steadily. They were unnerving with their intensity, as though this figure was looking at nothing in the world but him and stripping away any conceits he might strive to erect in order to hide his naked soul.

Dressed only in a nightgown, he found that 'naked' part a bit more literal than he preferred.

"What's the meaning of this?" Belasco swallowed against his fear, trying to think of what might be going on. Could this be a joke by one of his performers? "Who the devil are you?"

"Funny you should ask," the intruder remarked back in a voice that was low yet remained expressive. "But you are right in one thing."

There was a rush of cloth, and then the flustered showman found himself slammed back down onto his bed and the tip of a gleaming poignard was pressed against his neck.

"I am a devil," his attacker smiled wickedly. "One that you brought up out of Mexico. And I have come to discuss the nature of our bargain, David Belasco."

"B-bargain?" he gasped hurriedly, almost afraid to draw breath. There was certainly no chance of raising a shout now. Dammit, he should have made a commotion before the knife came out! "What do you mean? I don't understand!"

"Shhh, softly now!" The phantom laid a finger to his lips. "We don't want any of your merry men being roused from sleep, now, do we?" He then grabbed Belasco's collar and yanked the frightened man upright once more. "As I said, you have roused the attentions of the abyss with your actions, _Señor. _And I fear that as punishment, it will cost you a soul."

Perspiring heavily, the normally quick-witted entertainer found himself unable to do anything more than gasp out feeble breaths. This was all nonsense, what could it possibly…?

Wait. Of course. That's it.

His heart was still racing, but David now regarded this almost supernatural figure with a more canny look than before.

"Who are you, then?"

And a predator's smile leered down at him.

"Zorro."

It took a second for this foreign word to register in his brain. But as soon as he made the translation, more came with it. Like a door had been opened, dredging up memories and stories far older than himself. Belasco's mouth fell open.

"The Fox," he breathed.

A resident of California in his youth and beyond, of course he had heard the name. From long before the time when it had been inducted into the United States, that beautiful land had been the home of a figure steeped in myth and legend. Whenever men sought to use power to exploit or abuse the innocent, it was said a mysterious avenger on a black stallion would emerge. Able to appear and disappear at will, he commanded arcane powers which he used only in the pursuit of justice, and his skills with the blade had earned him the respect of all who lived in the territory. More fox than man, he outwitted the clumsy soldiers who obeyed only the veneer of authority their leaders wrapped themselves in, and lost no opportunity to bring those proud and vicious men to their knees. There were countless tales of his heroics as he rode across the dry hills, rescuing entire communities and lone prisoners from their woes, be it drought or flood, famine or bandits. His was a name that carried an undercurrent of reverence when it was spoken, in recognition of the valorous spirit who sought to undo the mistakes which man's folly had wrought.

Staring down at Belasco from less than a few feet of distance was a legend come to life.

Zorro.

The implications left him more certain than ever of why this person was here. He now felt himself on somewhat more secure mental footing, regardless of the childish awe his upbringing engendered in him.

It would appear his dealings with unscrupulous men had attracted the attention of a most troublesome opponent.

As he reached this conclusion, Zorro abruptly dragged him out of bed.

"Up we go, now. It's time we were off."

"Where to?" David managed to ask as the outlaw spun him around and proceeded to march him to the door. The knife was still prominently displayed near his throat. He heard the sound of the covered lamp being blown out, and then they were back in darkness.

"To the source of your current troubles," his captor hissed. At a prick of the knife, David unlocked the door and stepped cautiously out into the hall. Belasco kept his hands raised and glanced casually back. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific there, my friend."

"No, I do not believe I do," that dangerous voice came over his shoulder. "But it will enlighten you to know that if you do not take me where I wish to be, then your night shall be much more painful than you ever anticipated when you tucked yourself into bed this evening."

It was well known David absolutely hated to be threatened, and normally he found a way to make the one doing so regret his behavior. But that was a tactic employed against mortal men. And while not of any particular religious persuasion, he retained a certain deep respect for folklore and superstition that almost bordered on faith in and of itself. Actor's habit, some might say. In this instance, however, the knowledge of whom he might be dealing with here served to start him moving along the car's length more even than the length of steel being used to goad his steps.

The wooden floorboards were cold under his bare feet. He was reminded of a role as Ebenezer Scrooge which required him to wear a similar flimsy get-up. It remained dark in this passage, but long experience navigating his way around kept him from stumbling against anything. Belasco led them briefly outside and onto the next passenger car. As with his own, there appeared to be no one awake at this hour. He couldn't tell if this was good fortune or bad.

Speaking of which, it certainly couldn't hurt to make one thing clear.

"I'm not entirely certain what is going on," David whispered once more, "but I can assure you that I am more than able to barter for my well-being. How much should we start our discussion off on, hmmm?"

No response came back.

"Shall we say…" he hazarded, "…five thousand dollars?"

A hand gripped his shoulder roughly. "Remember pain, Belasco."

"Seven thousand, then."

We are not having this discussion. Lead on."

"Surely there must be something of mine that might interest you, my dear Zorro?"

There came a chuckle then as they found themselves back outside briefly. "Actually, there is. I intend to deprive you of more this night than just a fat commission. But for that you will simply have to be patient. Now, how much longer?"

"Just a little ways, good man, a little ways." Now fully awake, the cunning playwright felt reasonably assured of a chance to beat this trap he was in. "I wonder if we might keep discussing our options as we go?"

"There is no more time. We are here."

Belasco paused. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yes," Zorro muttered, so close it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "When you brought Sanchez out of the snake pit, you only moved him between two cars. I was watching, and could see that much. Counting backwards from your own, that means he must be somewhere among the compartments of the one we are now in. My only concern is which. There are eight total. Kindly lead me to the right one."

At the mention of snakes, David felt a leaden weight form in his stomach. _How? _How could this man possibly know about his smuggling method! Was there a traitor in his family? Or had someone simply worked it out? If that was the case, why had this Zorro not gone to the Mexican authorities and warned them beforehand of what was happening? He could not think of any valid arguments against it at this time.

But none of that mattered. Because right at this moment, they had come before the door in question.

"Open it," the black-clad menace demanded quietly.

Seeing no other way to delay, Belasco complied.

As soon as the door slid open, a firm shove put him inside the room and down on his knees.

"What the…?"

There was the snap of a match, and then the narrow cabin was filled with a guttering, hissing luminescence. Shadows leapt along the walls cast by the occupants. Turning, David saw Zorro was now holding a sparkler candle. The outlaw's attention was off him, those menacing eyes instead turned upon the face of the frightened youth now sitting up in bed. In the glow of his party favor, it was easy to recognize Pietro Sanchez.

"God's blood, who are…?"

One gloved hand slapped out across his face, silencing his cries. Before anyone could react, Zorro pounced. He grabbed one of Pietro's hands, twisted it behind his back and forced him face down onto the pillow, smothering his yowls. A few seconds later he had expertly looped a leather cord around the boy's wrists.

Belasco made to sit up then and immediately found the dagger being leveled at him once more, a clear warning. Slowly, so as not to appear dangerous, he scooted into a corner farthest from the door, keeping his hands raised.

Zorro nodded approvingly and proceeded with his business. Once his target's hands were bound together, he dragged him upright, gasping and teary-eyed, and produced a hank of cloth which he then stuffed into Sanchez's mouth and began to tie behind his head.

In order to pull this off, he placed the dagger between his teeth to prevent any slips of the blade.

Upon seeing that, David gave a sharp cough.

Instantly a giant arm snaked out from beneath the bed and seized Zorro by the ankle. It gave a mighty yank, and the outlaw tumbled backward, slamming against the wall with a crash. The dagger clattered across the floor. Pietro lost his balance and fell atop Belasco, his cries stopped by the gag.

Hernando emerged from beneath the cot, furious eyes leveled upon their assailant and keeping tight hold of his ankle. While he was busy still extricating himself from his hiding place, Zorro pulled back his free leg and kicked him soundly in the face. The powerhouse made no reaction to this, not by word or deed. As the masked fighter drew back for another blow, Hernando came to his knees swifter than might be expected and lunged forth, catching Zorro by the front of his shirt. He then dragged them both upright.

"Open the window!" the colossus snarled over his shoulder.

Belasco did so, shoving the thrashing Mexican off him and scrambling to throw open the glass. A commotion could be heard over the sounds of the struggle. Shouts from the next compartment were coming up. "Hernando!" they called. "Are you all right?"

Quickly Belasco sprang across the length of the room and slammed the door, locking it securely. Moments later there was the sound of someone trying to open it. "Hernando! What's going on?"

Zorro tore and fought against that iron hold. Held off the floor by one leg and his shirt like this, he couldn't come to an advantageous position for grappling. The giant seem unfazed by any blow he landed. Clearly this person knew something about wrestling, for he maneuvered his body to prevent Zorro from reaching either his groin or his eyes and ears. The truly vulnerable spots were well protected, then.

Hernando carried him over to the open window. Desperately Zorro's mind sought for a way out of this. There was no room to draw his sword, and it wouldn't have made a difference if he could, not in these tight quarters. His dagger was gone, where he couldn't see. Any of his other tools would be either ineffective or too dangerous for all concerned. In just a few moments he would be flung out of a speeding train, most likely to his severe injury or even death. Held in this awkward position, his desperate gaze raked around the room, searching for something useful.

His eye was drawn to the glowing sparkler candle still rolling on the floor.

Zorro's hand snatched up the burning brand. The circus strongman stopped before the open portal and prepared to heave his burden through it. Before he could, the valiant desperado unhooked the whip from his belt. Holding it still rolled up, he used the extended reach this provided him and, jerking upwards, looping the cords around Hernando's head like a cowboy lassoing a heifer. Taken by surprise, the bald brute hesitated just as he was about to pitch him forward.

As he did, the hero yanked on his improvised collar, bringing himself closer to the face of his opponent, and jammed the sparkler up Hernando's cavernous nose.

The man's eyes flew wide, and he roared loud enough to drown out the sounds of the people outside. His grip loosened on instinct, and Zorro tore free. It only took a second for his opponent to dislodge the searing obstruction in his airways, but in that time, he had taken advantage of the distraction. Gripping the coiled whip with both hands now, the black crow jumped a little off his feet and then came back down, lifting his legs high to either side and pulling with all his strength. This combined with the weight of his own not insubstantial frame brought Hernando's head pitching down to slam against the open edge of the window.

Dazed, the great ox slumped against the bed. The Fox moved fast. Retrieving his lash, he saw Belasco picking up the knife where it had fallen. No time to find out if he knew how to use it or not. Instead Zorro sidestepped the question by grabbing the still-bound Pietro and dragging him upright, holding him between them like a shield. The boy squealed through his gag when he saw the blade being pointed at him, and Belasco froze.

Zorro advanced, pushing his prisoner ahead of him. The older man gave way before them, his face worked in a murderous scowl. Continued cries at his back demanded if the occupants were in need of assistance.

Of a sudden the masked fighter gave a jerk forward on his hostage. Immediately David whipped the knife away to avoid harming Pietro. Before he could realize it was just a feint, Zorro kicked out and knocked the weapon from his hand. He then planted his shoulder against the teen's back and charged forward with a mighty cry. They collided with Belasco, and all three crashed into the door, splintering the wood and knocking it from its hinges so that they pitched into the crowded corridor, to the astonishment of the roused entertainers on the other side.

Leaping backwards off this dog-pile, Zorro plunged a hand into the pouch on his belt and came up with a small tube of metal. Depressing one end, he heard the snap indicating a reaction and then tossed the canister back out into the hallway before ducking down and covering his eyes.

A wise precaution, as moments later the whole car was lit up with light so bright anyone looking at it from outside would have thought there was a tiny sun contained inside.

As the magnesium bomb subsided, one could hear the frantic wails of people temporarily blinded by the chemical reaction. Looking up, Zorro saw no one on their feet through the door. He then leapt to his feet and tore out into the hallway.

Several people in their bedtime attire, both men and women, were leaning against walls or sitting in the corridor, rubbing their eyes and calling for help. They would probably be seeing spots for quite a while, but no permanent damage should be done. He went out of his way to keep from harming people more than necessary. And in this case, that seemed to be enough.

Pietro Sanchez was twitching and looking around from his place still atop a mound of people. Apparently he had still been facedown when the flash went off, for when Zorro grabbed his shirt and yanked him upright, his wild eyes looked right at his attacker, and he began screaming through his gag.

"MOVE!" Zorro roared in his loudest voice.

He shoved the fugitive roughly, who spun and staggered across the crowded corridor in bare feet, stepping on limbs and flinching when their owners yowled furiously at him. His captor followed close behind as they moved down the length of the train, picking his steps with care and keeping one hand pressed against the boy's back, urging him to greater speeds. Chancing a glance behind, he saw Belasco shaking his head and peering about as he groped for leverage to rise. By the way he looked, it would seem he too had avoided the effects of the bomb, probably from having Sanchez lying on top of him.

The two men locked eyes for the space of a heartbeat, and in that moment both recognized the hard gaze of an enemy.

Fortunately this interlude allowed Zorro to see movement down the way, and the flash of bright steel.

"DOWN!" he yelled, and shoved Pietro so that he went sprawling forward. The man in black collapsed as well, just before a knife flew down the corridor and whistled overhead.

Another followed soon afterwards, but by this point Zorro had already ducked into a seated booth that took up one side of this end of the car. The blade embedded in the floor a scant second after he vacated that spot. Out of the attacker's sightline, he considered his options.

Having somewhat recovered from this treatment, Pietro Sanchez wiggled about from his position until he could see what was happening behind him.

To his surprise, he recognized the man coming down the hallway, stepping grimly past those people who were only now starting to recover their sight. It was one of the attendants who had been there when he was brought out of the snake. Only now, he had a brace of daggers tucked into a bandolier strapped across his chest. With short black hair that stuck up wildly from his head, fierce eyes and narrow scarred cheeks, he made for a much more formidable figure than the one Pietro recalled.

"Ari!" Belasco gasped as his partner strode by. "Careful who you hit! We can't have him getting hurt now!"

Dressed in a nightshirt and tight performer's pants with knives thrust into his boots, Ahriman the knife-thrower shot a look down at his boss and nodded. "Don't worry," and his menacing gaze returned to the stretch of lane up ahead. "I only hit what I aim for."

Hidden behind the doorframe, Zorro popped his head out briefly and them immediately tucked it back in. The breeze of a passing knife let him know just who he was dealing with here. The knife-juggler he had seen performing last night. Thought he had recognized the face when they were smuggling Pietro between the trains. At least my memory hasn't failed me, he considered languidly.

Just then another dagger thudded into the wooden frame near his head, and a second impacted with the floor right beside him. The man was coming closer, judging by the angles. As if to affirm this, suddenly a sharpened blade actually entered the sitting compartment he was hiding in and lodged into the leather couch's cushion. Good thing he had been farther back from the door than that, or he might have been hit.

"Well, at least I can take one thing out of this." So saying, Zorro quickly reached out and plucked the knife free just before another one landed close to the same spot. It wasn't the fine Spanish steel he had left back in Pietro's cabin, but something was better than nothing. Nice of his opponent to at least arm him. Who said courtesy was dead?

Any humor at his situation quickly evaporated when another knife skimmed close to the brim of his hat. It appeared as if the acrobat had taken up a position down the hall and was attempting to keep him pinned down now. Good. That at least gives me some time to think about things. He could be waiting for that gorilla Hernando to rouse himself and join the fray, a prospect Zorro was not looking forward to. Or there might be other more dangerous people on their way at this very moment. Up to this point nobody had broken out any firearms, for which he was glad. No reason to assume any of these circus freaks were that heavily armed. Of course, that could change depending on how you looked at it. One really should beware of shooting oneself in the foot…

The sound of wood being pierced let him know that thoughtful deliberation was getting him nowhere. There were several projectiles close at hand, he realized, courtesy of Knives over there. But engaging in a knife-throwing war with that character didn't suit his sense of aesthetics. With the corridor crowded back that way, someone might be seriously hurt were he to misjudge his aim. Well, you could always wait for the man to run out of throwing implements, right? And how long would that take, I wonder?

Time was running out. He quickly consulted a golden pocket-watch for confirmation. It wouldn't be much longer. They would both have to be off the train by the time it happened, or things would undoubtedly get messy. Nothing he couldn't handle, really; but still, messy didn't exactly go towards inspiring legends of his cleverness. And there was a certain family tradition to uphold in that regard. Got to give the people what they've come to expect, after all.

Zorro sighed. Very well, then. He hadn't wanted to use another of the tricks from his arsenal quite so soon, but right now he couldn't afford to be pinned down like this. So decided, he reached into his pouch and withdrew several small clay smoke bombs. Based on the Robert Yale formula from his father's time, they should provide sufficient cover and camouflage for him to make a suitable escape. Knives wouldn't risk throwing recklessly through smoke, he might wind up hitting Pietro. Now that that's been decided…

An unusual sound, like something rolling across the floor, reached his ears then.

Turning his head, the savvy swashbuckler was shocked to see two smoke bombs skitter right by this spot.

Well, that's ironic.

"LOOK OUT!" someone cried, and then the devices went off, followed by his hideout and the cabin being filled with an obscuring gray cloud.

* * *

"David, what the hell's happening?" one of his actresses screamed at him, coughing and rubbing at her eyes.

"Everyone, listen to me!" he yelled back in an attempt to be heard over the din. "Please stay calm, there's no need to get upset!"

And just like that everyone started gabbling at once.

"Who's shooting? Are we being robbed?"

"For mercy's sake, just give them what they want! It's not worth getting gunned down over!"

"Oh God!" another querulous voice could be heard. "It's Comanche, I know it! They'll kill us all, they're ruthless, I tell you!"

"Abner, you idiot, the Comanche haven't looted in twenty years! It's obviously the Hopi, they're still upset about their chief being sent to Alcatraz! I saw them bring him in across the Bay, a more vicious-looking scoundrel you've never…!"

"_**QUIET!"**_

Hernando's bellow cut through the commotion without any dissent. In its wake, a number of sheepish-looking actors and carnival-folk stood about looking frazzled and half-awake in their nightclothes.

In the resulting silence, David took his little mob of unhappy people firmly in hand. "It seems someone has snuck aboard the train. Hernando and I will take care of it, you can be certain. Go back to your rooms now. Lock the doors and don't let anyone in if you don't recognize them. We'll inform you the moment this has been resolved. In the meantime, look after one another. Take care of each other. We're all family, and now's the time to show it."

The respect they all held for him chose to manifest at that moment. With mumbled apologies and the grace of trained performers, they all filed out of the cabin or returned to their rooms as requested. Assistance was offered to the ones who had sustained bumps or scrapes in the confusion, as well as those still looking a little woozy from that blast of light.

Under normal circumstances, Belasco would have been gratified to see them all so courteous to one another. But right now, he was preoccupied with something a little removed from fatherly concerns.

When the smoke had cleared, Pietro Sanchez was missing. Ari had gone charging into the cloud cover before anyone could stop him, and he too was not in evidence at the time. Most disturbing of all, their unexpected rider had also not chosen to stick around following that disturbance. When they moved to investigate the cubbyhole Zorro had stashed himself in, the only thing they found were a few knives in the upholstery and a broken window.

Standing outside that nook, Belasco stared out the shattered pane and then turned a look of cold fury on his hulking helper.

"Don't let him off this train," he declared softly.

Nursing the lump on his forehead, Hernando responded with a teeth-baring grimace and turned to head into the next car.

* * *

Zorro hunched down against the force of the wind blowing against his body. He backtracked down roof of the cars, keeping low and making his progress carefully so as not to lose his footing. His predecessors had a few particular tales that involved them doing something precisely like this. They never mentioned the way every bump in the tracks made you feel like you were about to be bucked off your feet, or how the cape almost turned into a living thing from the rushing gale and tried to wrap itself around your legs at every turn, hindering your movements. It was tempting to simply hoist the wrap off his shoulders and let it go soaring away like a great black flag. Tempting, but then, despite being almost solely used for theatrical effect, it did have its advantages in a fight when used properly. And he had been trained not to give up on any advantages life presented you with.

The adrenaline high he had been running on since tackling the muscle man seemed to be wearing off. It wasn't the first time he had come close to dying, and it hopefully wouldn't be the last. No sense thinking about it now. What mattered was that there was an unexpected snag in his plans.

He had been closest, and so he heard when somebody came into the car back there and apparently hussled Sanchez out. Most likely it was the same person who threw the smoke bombs, since they had come from that direction. Now, granted, it was possible that this was just another one of Belasco's crew trying to keep any of the honest members from learning what was going on. Zorro had come to suspect that this little human smuggling operation was kept to only a small circle of people. The rest of the group was probably in the dark about their leader's side business. That made for a larger share of the profits, and less risk of a careless word being let slip to the wrong ears.

But something didn't feel quite right. It was entirely possible that a new player was trying to deal in on this game. A lot of money was at stake, after all. A bounty hunter might have sniffed things out and snuck on board somehow. Perhaps one of the actors had gotten wise to their company's illegal activities and was looking to cash in on it. Or it was just an internal dispute amongst the conspirators.

Either way, it didn't bode well for his own concerns. And maybe not for Pietro's either. Whoever had him now might not take as great a concern in seeing him come out of this alive as Zorro. And that meant every second he wasn't under the Fox's care his life was possibly in danger. Whatever happened after this fiasco was over, he was determined that the boy would survive to stand trial for his actions.

So if some third party felt it was their business to get involved here, they were about to find themselves another target of the Fox.

Thus resolved, he made his way along the galloping back of this iron horse.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

All Pietro knew was that he was on his feet and being forcibly shoved along. With the darkness of the train's interior and the speed everything was going by him, nothing was coming clear. There might as well have been a blindfold over his eyes to match the gag in his mouth. The frightened fugitive had only an impression of being shuffled briefly outside between the carriages. He made no attempt to fight back against his kidnapper. Too much had happened to him recently to offer even token resistance anyway.

Instead he surrendered himself into the hands of God.

Pushed roughly down dark and intimidating passages, Pietro sought to find an appropriate verse to guide him. And immediately, as if heaven-sent, one came. It made his heart swell at the feeling of having been touched by the divine hand, and so he recited it to himself.

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are the light of the world…_

No, wait, that's not right. _I will fear no evil, for thou art like unto a summer's day, so lovely and so temperate …_

Wait. Hold on.

I lost it.

"Don't slow down!" the person behind him hissed. "Keep moving, Sanchez!"

All his hopes drained away in mere moments. Pietro knew this must be the same shadowy villain that had come bursting into his cabin and proceeded to abduct him. He realized now, without a doubt, that he was not at the tender mercies of any angel, but a prisoner of the devil.

* * *

The most important rule when engaging in any dangerous enterprise was to never assume things would just work out in your favor. That sort of thinking might succeed when you're in the gambling houses or looking to buy a horse. But when trying to cross a busy intersection or, say, looking to hijack a murderer away from a circus of cutthroats, it pays to go into the situation as well-prepared as you possibly can be.

The second most important rule is to adapt when your preparations fall through.

Zorro had hoped to rely on speed and surprise to get him and Sanchez off the train before anyone could mount an effective resistance against him. Now it looked as though he may have to come to grips with however many dangerous people might be in this crew. To top it all off, the dashing daredevil was in a somewhat less than enviable position, seeing as he was now on the roof of a train at night with nothing between him and a lot of broken bones but air.

"Could things get any worse?" he wondered aloud.

Zorro braced himself for an attack. To his surprise, no such thing materialized.

Well, I'm not a magician, after all. I can't just summon peril at a whim. Besides, peril seems to require no assistance in finding me.

Case in point: did I just see someone climb up here with me?

Something went whizzing by his head, and Zorro ducked down as well as he was able behind the protruding spine of the sleeper car.

Father, you always told me to take what we do more seriously. Admittedly, I never paid much heed to your warnings. But maybe someone else is about to give me a more abject lesson than you ever dared.

* * *

Horses.

That was the first thing that leapt out at Pietro about the place they finally drew to a halt in. It was undoubtedly a stable for horses. The lighting was still bad, but that didn't keep him from hearing the animals stamping and whinnying in their corrals, nor could it prevent his experienced nose from picking up the smell of manure and straw, mixed with the scent of the animals themselves.

So they were in the car reserved for stabling the horses used in the troupe's performance. But why had his abductor brought them here?

"Hold on a moment."

There was some fumbling in the dark, and then came the snap of a match. This brief spark soon blossomed into full-blown light that illuminated their surroundings. Pietro blinked against the glare. The glow of a lamp allowed him to make out their surroundings. A dozen white horses nickered in their pens on either side of him. Seeing them all there, he was seized by the desire to leap atop one and ride off. Anywhere would do, as long as he had a mount beneath him and could fight for his own life. Like this, though, bound and gagged, what could he…?

"Now then…"

He flinched, but before the despondent teen could react, he felt the gag being loosened to fall away. Licking his lips, the next realization was that the ties around his arms were being undone. Just as he was about to ask what was going on, they came free. Now rubbing his chafed wrists, Pietro at last turned to face his tormentor.

To his surprise, he once more found himself recognizing the person across from him. Standing there smiling broadly was the other man who had been present upon his removal from the snake's belly. This one had curly ginger hair and smooth features. A crinkly black gaze with virtually no eyebrows peered at him. His smile was boasting two golden teeth, and his broad shoulders sported a heavy leather coat.

"You doing all right there?" the man asked him, patting a shoulder solicitously. "Not hurt, are you?"

"No," Pietro responded warily. "What… what is happening? And who are you?"

"Name's Luis." He gave a thump of his broad chest. "But everybody around here calls me 'The Alcalde'. I'm the company stage manager and the propmaster, in charge of all the equipment and such. Hope I didn't scare you back there with that little bit of smoke-and-mirrors, but it seemed like a good time to get you safely elsewhere, what with all that ruckus. No need to worry, you're safe now!"

Pietro glanced around and rubbed his arms uncomfortably. Their current predicament was leaving him less inclined to feel assured of that statement. "What is going on around here?" he repeated.

"Got me," Luis beckoned him over to a corner, where two boxes were propped. Carrying the kerosene lamp, he set it carefully between them and indicated for Pietro to have a seat. "But whatever it was, seemed like a good time to make oneself scarce, eh? Maybe you could let me in on what happened?"

The boy shivered. "A stranger broke into my compartment. He was dressed all in black, and he tied me up. Belasco and… the big man were there, and they tried to fight him off. I'm sorry… I don't know precisely what happened. Everything was a blur, it all went by so fast, I never…"

"S'all right, don't trouble yourself." The propmaster gave him another friendly pat on the shoulder. He then turned and picked up a saddle blanket that was resting on one of the stalls. Luis then entered the pen and draped it over one of the horse's back, giving it a soothing rub before lifting up a saddle. "Could be somebody managed to sneak on board looking to nab you. Or this might be some cockamamie plan that Belasco set up, who knows? Anyway, it don't mean no mind to you now. You're about to make another break for freedom yourself."

The man's Spanish was good, but still Pietro had a hard time understanding that last bit.

"How do you mean?"

Luis cinched the saddle securely, then cast a glance down the lane as if in search of something. His face looked anxious for a moment. And then he looked over and grinned once more.

"What I mean is, your father sends his love."

Surprise, followed by hope. Pietro came immediately to his feet. "My father sent you?"

His rescuer nodded as he moved into another stall and repeated the procedure from before. "Seems he never took a shine to Belasco's way of operating. Can't really blame him. We've been pulling this stunt coming on ten years, and let me tell you, it didn't always turn out so pretty. Used to be we just got a man out of one territory to the next. Now we're an international affair! Belasco's got connections up in Canada, he lived there back when he was a kid. The Mounties never caught on once, mind you, but that didn't mean our cargo always got where it was going, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't." A chill went up his spine all the same. "What are you telling me?"

"Well," Luis said with a drawl as he saddled another horse, "Don't mean to scare you more than you already are, but back before we recruited Anatolia and her big lizard, it wasn't always a sure bet nobody would catch on. If David ever thought somebody was getting wise, he'd just kick our poor client off the train. Imagine that; stuck out in the wilderness, no horse, no food or water, sometimes not even shoes on your feet in some cases. You wouldn't want to be all alone in this wild country, believe me."

"I see. It sounds awful." Pietro shuddered.

"Yes, that's just what your father said when I spoke to him." The technician's voice was muffled as he bent and continued to work assuredly. His audience was hanging off every word. "And that's not the worst of it, no sirree! The _worst_ things happened when we got where we were going, no problem, and the rider couldn't pay his fare. Oh, you don't want to cross Belasco when it comes to money, my son, no you certainly don't! He's crazy, and that's a fact. Hides it by putting on an act that would make them roar at Carnegie Hall, but truth is his brain just doesn't work like a normal person's. And that means when he loses his temper, it's all the worse!"

Luis draped his arms over the front of the stall and licked his lips, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Never gets his own hands dirty, uh-uh, not him. He's got a pet Chinese on this train, greasy little snake called 'Lady Hwa-Rang', if you can believe it. She's who he goes to whenever something really dirty needs to be done. You don't wanna cross those sneaky yellow devils, they'll smile and bow to your face, but the second you turn your back out come the knives! Believe me, lad," and he gave a sad shake of his head, "It's a dirty business we're all involved in. I've had to clean up messes that would give you nightmares for life if you only saw them. Ain't no fit life for a human being. And that's why I'm getting out!"

"This is why you went to my father?" Pietro pressed him, looking decidedly unnerved by this recitation.

"Yeah. He was worried about your safety, and with good cause! Even more so once I told him a few of the things I knew about this venture. At the end of the day, he asked me to make sure you not only made it out of Nuevo Laredo, but also got away from Belasco before any harm could come to you." He nodded back the way they came. "What we needed was a way to keep Belasco from following us right away once he learned you were gone. The plan was that after we got near Houston, we'd start a fire in one of the rear passenger compartments. These old boxcars are like tinder, really, just waiting to have a match set to them. That's why you need to have plans in case something like that happens. Should a car catch fire and they can't put it out, we're supposed to uncouple it from the rest of the train. All the ones behind it also get cut off, of course, and anyone left behind, it's their job to get the burning one disconnected from the rest until we can come back for them."

"But then, as you know, this mess here happened. I didn't know what was going on, but it seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity. So I got up and set off to find out what the fuss was about. As soon as it looked like you were in trouble, I got you out of there quick. As for that fella in black, I figure he's a good enough excuse to skip the fire altogether. We can just make it look like the train coming apart was his doing. Belasco won't even think about anyone else being involved, I'll bet. That way we can make our getaway before he figures out what really happened. Once the train comes to a halt, we'll use these horses to get us to Houston ahead of everyone else. They'll have to stop and come back for the others, so we'll have ourselves a big lead. Your father's friend Captain Toblar has a ship waiting there all ready to take you to Spain where you'll be safe. "

"But…"

Pietro looked around them. His expression let it be known that something more immediate than this future plan was bothering him.

"If we're going to be riding these horses, why are you saddling three of them?"

And the stagehand winked.

"Well, for the same reason I've been talking to you instead of getting started on our getaway. Because we've got to wait for my partner to show up."

* * *

Zorro wasn't certain who he was up against, and he didn't really want to waste time finding out. Unfortunately, his options at the moment were limited. A flash bomb would require he close his eyes for several seconds, a dangerous thing to do while atop a speeding train even if someone wasn't shooting at him. And he only had one left, best not to waste it. All the wind would render a smoke bomb meaningless, and throwing a knife at them, assuming he actually managed to connect in the dark, almost assured the target would fall to their death.

With all this in mind, he did the only thing that made any sense.

He threw himself from the train.

Perhaps it wasn't the most sensible move, but it did get him out of his attacker's sightline. And with some luck they might just assume he really had fallen off.

It certainly might have looked that way. Instead Zorro found himself in the unenviable position of dangling from the side of a moving passenger car, clutching the roof's overhang with his fingers. Years of training allowed him to keep from losing his grip, and actually permitted the daring soul to scoot over inch by inch until he came at last to one of the windows. Still, even he couldn't hold like this for very long. Judging his angle, he tensed his forearms and prepared to break his way in.

A feeling of the roof shifting slightly under his fingers alerted him in time to look up and see the figure standing above. They were aiming what looked suspiciously like a bow. No further confirmation was needed, and he drove his legs into the window, pulling on the roof to send himself crashing through.

It felt like the edge of the thin glass might have cut him briefly, but at least there was no cloth-yard shaft punching through his skull. Instead Zorro wound up tumbling into the lightless cabin, to the accompaniment of a pair of screams.

Lying on the floor for a moment, stunned and grateful at having narrowly escaped death once more, a candle was lit. Two women who appeared to be twins were staring at him, clad only in their nightgowns with long dark curls streaming down their backs.

"_Che sucede?" _one of them cried.

A situation like this could only be handled in one possible way.

"Ah, me!" he exclaimed suddenly in Italian, "I completely forgot to put a rose between my teeth! _Stupido!"_ Bounding up, Zorro doffed his hat to the dumbfounded damsels and smiled with easy charm. "Forgive my incompetence, I shall visit a florist and return straight away. Someone will be along to clean up the glass. _Buona notte, bellas!"_

While they looked to one another in bewilderment, he moved to the door and casually let himself out, blowing them a kiss as he closed it behind him.

Once more in the cabin's hallway, he took a moment to consider. If a member of Belasco's crew had gotten their hands on Pietro, the odds were good that he had once again been stashed somewhere. This could require searching through every compartment, a prospect he did not relish. On the other hand, if as he suspected a third party was active here, their only goal would be escaping off the train. And since that was Zorro's plan to begin with, he had a good idea how they intended to accomplish this feat.

Best to first take care of the option that required the least amount of time. There were two passenger cars and four boxcars between here and the end of the train. Six places to check, but one in particular held great promise. The horse stable. His instincts told him he was right, and without further ado, the masked avenger set off quickly down the aisle.

Upon reaching the door leading to the next car, Zorro paused, considering. Perhaps now would be a good time to play it smart.

So resolved, he flung a flash bomb through the door's window and watched it land on the deck of the trailing car. As expected, a projectile of some kind caromed off the metal immediately afterwards, but by this time, Zorro had already ducked down to shield himself from the blast, gripping the door handle in preparation.

There was a dull 'woomph', followed by a cry from overhead. Cursing in a foreign language reached his ears. Well, at least they didn't fall off. And with that he burst through the door and dashed over the space between the cars, still expecting to be shot at any moment. Instead Zorro cleared the distance and made it into the next car unharmed, slamming the portal shut behind him with a relieved gasp. Most likely he was dealing with the Oriental archer he had witnessed performing two nights past. Since it was a lady, his upbringing did not allow him to deal with her in a more bellicose fashion like all the rest. Hopefully she would be sufficiently immobilized to keep from injuring him or anyone else in the immediate future.

One down, several more to go. He proceeded towards the rear.

No further attacks manifested. He kept a wary eye out for the knife-thrower, but saw no further signs of him. The rest of the doors along this way remained closed, with no indication of the occupants being awake. Less than five minutes had passed since he lost sight of Pietro Sanchez. In that time many things could have happened. He might not even be on the train anymore. The only solution now was to continue as planned, eliminating possibilities and staying alive until an opportunity presented itself.

At last he came upon the door leading to the animal wagons. Oddly, Zorro felt himself rather preoccupied. If his previous guess was incorrect and Pietro was still in Belasco's clutches, then that would mean he was somewhere in the rooms he had just passed. His current suspicion couldn't afford to waste time checking all of them on the way in, because that would give his competition the time they needed to escape. On the other hand, by the time he made his way back here, there could conceivably be a much larger force of people arrayed against him. Still, the risk of losing his target altogether was simply too great. This nagging worry had to be resolved prior to making any further decisions.

With that, he stepped outside, carefully grasped the door-handle and whipped the blank wooden façade open, hiding behind the frame. No knives came whizzing out to greet him. Of course there might be other perils lying in wait. Nothing left to do but trust in his own abilities, and whatever blessings he might have earned.

Zorro then dove through the opening, flattening himself to one side as he did. All was dark. He felt the wire cage which separated the pens, and heard the monkeys snuffling sleepily.

Rolling upright, he saw a shape loom before him, and a fist crashed into his face.

* * *

Hernando hurried as swift as he could away from the sight of his humiliation. Anger made his face burn, while his nose still stung from that craven shoving a firecracker up it. When he caught up with that black dog, it wouldn't be simply a matter of throwing him out a window. This time, he would tie a rope around the man's feet and drag him along behind the train until there was nothing left but a bloody cape.

The invader had gone out the window and up on the roof. He might still be up there, or he could be hiding back down in the cars. Apparently none of the other performers had been disturbed by the fight in the other car. But even though he was angry enough to punch through a wall, the former wrestler recognized the benefits of allies at this time.

Ari was already ahead of him, where he didn't know. Maybe up top right now. Or maybe not. It would be best to have someone searching inside and out. Hernando didn't fancy the thought of getting a knife stuck in him, so he opted to remain down here. Still, someone really should be up there.

Preferably, someone he would rather have nowhere near him, just to be on the safe side.

Having reached this decision, Hernando located another of their cabal's doors and knocked on it, softly and urgently. "Bong Cha!" he hissed.

No answer. It really should be Belasco doing this, he actually spoke the woman's tongue.

A little louder. "Bong Cha!"

Still nothing.

Cursing, he gave up and went back to his pursuit. Let David inform that one of their problems, she'd probably feather anyone else who came to her door. Striving to make as little noise as possible, he at last reached the final cabin. Anatolia's apartment was here, along with Luis'. The Snake Queen wouldn't be of much use in a fight, but the propmaster might just have a few tricks up his sleeve. May as well recruit one extra set of eyes and hands.

As this idea was occurring to him, a bit of movement through the glass at the far end of the car caught his eye.

Hernando felt his heart beat double-time. Forgetting the notion of getting help, he raced swiftly on bare feet and yanked open the door.

Ari jumped and spun, brandishing a knife as he did. When he caught sight of Hernando, he breathed a sigh and glowered at the big man. "Dammit, don't startle me! I almost stabbed you!"

"Forget that! Where is he?"

"I don't know." The knife-juggler peered around his ally's frame. "Didn't Luis get him out? I thought he'd put him up in his cabin, but they're not there. Maybe Anatolia, but I got the impression she didn't like the kid that mu…"

"Not Sanchez!" Hernando snapped, baring his teeth in a frightful snarl. "The black bastard! Did you see him come down?"

"So he is on the roof. I was just about to go and check there, since I hadn't run into him yet." Ahriman indicated towards the front of the car. "You wait down here. I'll head up top and scout for him. If he tries to get back inside, we'll catch him between us."

Just as he was about to climb the ladder leading to the roof, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Wait," Hernando spoke. "If he is there, force him down to me. I'll be in the snake car. Fewer people around that way."

"What has that got to do with…?"

Even as he spoke, Ari paused upon seeing the frightful look on his partner's face. He swallowed and gave a hasty nod of confirmation.

Hernando released him, and the marksman scampered up the metal rails and out of sight. With a final look back, he then entered the first boxcar and closed the door behind him.

Waiting alone in the pitch-black cabin, he could smell the monkeys' refuse mixed with the reptile's scent. It seemed as though his senses sharpened without any light. There was a dry rustling that could have been the python rubbing over its scales. At the same time, he thought he could detect the sound of Ari's feet overhead. The creak and groan of the wood combined with rattling metal and the far-off locomotive's steady pulse served to fill the rest of his hearing.

He estimated less than two minutes when the sound of movement came from outside. Then the door swung back, but there was no one to be seen. Hernando remained patient, resisting the urge to rush out and engage his foe. Instead he waited for him to come.

A flash of movement, and then he was no longer alone. The sight of a cape billowing let him know this was the right man, and as his enemy came up silhouetted against the open door, Hernando hauled off and delivered a solid punch right in his face.

* * *

The door cracked open, and a sleepy face peered out. "David? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

He wasted no time with explanation. "Felix, there's a dangerous stowaway on the train. Lock yourself in and don't come out until I tell you."

Normally there would have been questions asked, but the mention of peril got the thespian motivated to obey without the usual backtalk one could expect from his breed. Felix slammed the door shut without another word.

Well, that was a useful lesson. Perhaps threat of physical harm could conceivably be used to compel his actors not to challenge his directorial decisions onstage. Something good ought to come out of this mess, at least.

Belasco worked his way methodically down the line. He informed the rest of them an edited version of what was happening. His extended family obeyed his warning and barricaded themselves in their quarters. Keep your lies simple, that's the first rule of successful showmanship. Omitting the truth sometimes worked just as well. It also gave him the opportunity to verify there was no one else to be found in any of their rooms.

There was no way that Zorro character could have gotten both himself and Sanchez out that window. How he made it out on his own was a mystery. Belasco certainly couldn't imagine scaling up the side of a moving train. That could mean either Zorro broke the window to make them think he went out that way and then just took Pietro into the next car under cover of the smoke, or he did practice defenestration and the boy chose to make a break for it on his own.

But if that was the case, why hadn't Pietro come back to them? Perhaps he had been afraid of further violence. There had been knives flying through the air, after all. And that's another thing: Ahriman went into the smoke almost immediately. Why didn't he catch Pietro then? One could hardly imagine a wasted stick like Sanchez outrunning a man of Ari's vigor, desperate or not. And it was a straight line. Could they have struggled outdoors and fallen off the train? No, they would have definitely heard a commotion then, almost certainly a scream. So what was going on?

Could there be another factor at work here against him?

Well, we'll just see about that.

By now, he had reached Bong Cha's room. It was surprising she hadn't roused already, considering what a light sleeper she was. Moving up ready to call out to her, David paused as something caught his eye. Frowning, he bent down to inspect it closer.

Yes, he had been right. There was a small triangular wedge shoved into the crack under her door. This piece of wood effectively served to jam it shut. Someone had gone to the trouble of specifically trapping Bong Cha. Could it have been Zorro? But how could he have known she was involved? Was it simply a precaution? None of the others had been the victim of such a tactic. So why here?

Suddenly a suspicion grew in Belasco's mind. Could one of his own men be involved in this, looking to cheat him?

Without further ado, he yanked the piece of wood out and tried the door handle. As expected, it had already been unlocked from the inside, and so he yanked it open.

"Bong Ch-!"

A breeze from the open window caused the blind to flutter. Other than this, the room was empty.

* * *

Considering the force of the blow, a lesser man might have called it a day and passed out. Zorro didn't let either the pain or the surprise get the best of him. Instead he braced his palms against the floor and kicked out at where he reasoned his opponent's knees must be.

Whether or not he connected turned out to be moot. It was like kicking steel. This left little doubt that the giant from before had roused and stolen ahead to lay an ambush for him. Other than stabbing the man, something he really didn't want to have to do, previous experience and even closer quarters than before let him know he might be at a disadvantage.

This opinion was further strengthened when a fist the size of a summer melon grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him upright. Before Zorro could fight back, he was spun around and crushed back against the ogre's chest. One great hairy arm wrapped around him, pinning his arms. The other encircled his windpipe, and without further ado, he was being strangled.

"Got you, little blackbird!" his attacker hissed in relish. "Sleep tight, and I promise, when you awake it'll be in a way that makes you wish you were already dead!"

There was no air coming in. A backwards kick to the groin failed to connect as the blow was anticipated and countered with a deft twist. Zorro tried to reach the strongman's eyes, but couldn't make it that far. No way to put any real power behind a punch either. Instead his clawing fingers caught hold of the handlebar moustache, and without consideration for the childish aspects of it, he yanked hard.

To his dismay, there was no yowl of pain. Indeed, there was no resistance at all, as the whole thing came off in his hand. A wax moustache. Wonderful. Just what you'd expect to find amongst a group of professional actors. And while he was figuring that out, the bald behemoth was continuing to choke him.

Monkeys screeched and rattled the wall of their pen. A chest like an ironsmith's bellows expanded and contracted behind his head, as if mocking his inability to do the same. The blood roaring in his ears told him the worst was happening. He was about to lose consciousness. His bag of tricks wouldn't work here. With his arms trapped at his sides, the sword couldn't be drawn, so that left only the knife in his boot. He didn't like the thought of potentially maiming a man, even if they did seem dead-set on killing him, but in a situation like this one could only be noble for so lo…

"_What the devil is happening in here?"_

They both jerked around. Light blossomed with the creak of hinges, and a woman Zorro recognized as Anatolia the Python Princess now stood in the room with them. She was in a silk night-robe not three feet away, holding an oil lamp and staring in total amazement at this display.

The flickering light of the wick filled his attention, and the Fox kicked out, knocking the lamp from her grasp. It flew up high, then came crashing down to shatter against the floorboards. Immediately the pool of oil ignited in a burst of blue, and moments later yellow fire spread across the floor, flowing under the wire cages in no time.

The screams of the woman mingled with those of the panicked animals now rushing frantically about their den and clamoring to get away. Even the python was surging frantically to put distance between itself and the flames. But still the giant did not let go. He seemed intent on crushing Zorro's throat regardless of whether or not they both burned. Well, maybe a lesson on how a sensible creature would react in such a situation was needed.

With that, he hooked out a leg and booted the latch on the monkey cage. The door sprang open, and seeing only a chance to escape the blaze, the frantic beasts launched themselves outside.

They came shrieking furiously, and the closest target of their primitive terror was the two men. Driven wild, the hairy creatures flung themselves biting and clawing at them. Bare-chested, Hernando took the worst of it. He bellowed himself in pain and anger as their sharp fangs pierced his skin. Forgetting his grudge, he let go of Zorro, who gratefully gasped in a lungful of air and threw off a pair of slavering monkeys before moving to address the immediate peril.

Anatolia had ripped open a ten-pound bag of sand kept in a stack near the doorway and was spilling the contents over the blaze in an effort to smother it before it could reach her cold-blooded partner. Noticing another such emergency pile on the opposite end of the corridor, Zorro raced over and yanked up a few more bags. He came swiftly back and tore one open, fighting the fire from the other side. Fortunately the lamp hadn't been full, and between the two of them, they managed to extinguish the blaze before anyone could be harmed.

For a moment they stood across from another, panting and gasping. Anatolia held a limp sack between her fingers, eyes scanning their environment for further signs of fire. When none came, she looked at Zorro, regarding him with about as much concern as she had the flames. Somewhat winded, the dashing swordsman could not even find it in himself to make a clever remark.

But when the colossus roared behind him, he wasted no time and dropped down. A pair of hands rushed overhead. Zorro pivoted and drove his elbow back, landing it squarely in the solar plexus.

Hernando bent double with a gasp, eyes going wide. A monkey blinked and chattered on his smooth pate. Zorro bounded up, now grasping with both hands another heavy bag of sand which he swung upward with all his strength to catch his stunned enemy on the chin. The impact sent his head snapping back and dislodged the irate primate, which landed on the floor and scampered away moments before Hernando too came crashing down like a tumbled redwood to lie senseless for the third time that night.

The monkeys had retreated back into their enclosure, which they now deemed safe once more. The masked man swiftly closed the door behind them before turning to regard the trembling lady once again.

He took note of the small derringer pistol she now pointed at him.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" she demanded.

In return, he leveled a stare devoid of frippery at her.

"You know why, _Señora."_

Anatolia blinked her red-rimmed eyes. There were tears in them, whether from the smoke or for other reasons. "Pietro Sanchez?"

"And Belasco."

This seemed to surprise her, and then the woman's face grew cold. "How do you mean?"

Zorro studied her for a brief while. He then ducked his head and spoke quietly.

"Whether you shoot me or no, this travesty you took part in is done for good. Belasco has profited from defying the law for the last time. I have already seen to that. You should look to your own welfare now, for he is finished."

Anatolia's eyes grew wide. Still holding him at gunpoint, she took a step backwards from that dark figure of legend.

"I couldn't stand… begging for scraps day to day anymore," she whispered. "I was always dependent on the whims of others. The wealthy, and the vicious. Men treated me like I was no better than a monkey made for their amusement. When Belasco came and offered a chance to gain my own wealth…"

Her face was fierce, but the tears still fell. "I hated what we were doing, giving freedom to the same kind of filth who took advantage of me before! But if it meant never having to degrade myself or my body again, I chose to still do it! Who are you to stand there and accuse me with eyes hidden behind a mask?"

"I am justice," Zorro responded calmly.

"BAH!" she sneered in return. "Tell me, what is this 'justice' men like you claim to uphold only for those you deem worthy?"

Black eyes continued to regard her. So intense were they that she actually felt fear at what they might represent. When he spoke next, she almost didn't hear him over the beating of her own frantic heart.

"Justice is the human conscience, written into law."

Anatolia's lips parted with a quick gasp.

Zorro smiled, not unkindly. "And money will be of no help in reclaiming your own conscience. I hope you realize that, _Señora _Anatolia."

It took her a while to realize the gun was hanging limply from her grasp, now pointed at the floor. And just then the train gave a sharp jerk. Anatolia stumbled forward with a cry, the pistol flying. Before she could fall, Zorro stepped forward and caught her.

"Damn!" he swore. Guiding her down until she knelt by the unconscious Hernando, her rescuer turned and ran to the end of the carriage. Flinging open the door, he saw his suspicions confirmed.

Before him hung an empty stretch of railroad tracks only a few feet across. Receding away was the next car, unfastened from the one he was on still bound to the locomotive pulling them. The cars after his own had been uncoupled. They and their cargo slowly began to pull away.

He knew that somewhere on those receding boxes was Pietro Sanchez.

The gap was only ten feet but widening every second. There was not a moment to lose. Zorro sped back to where Anatolia crouched. He had to clear as much room as possible. He couldn't afford to jump over them both, which meant that between the unconscious giant and the back door there was perhaps thirty feet at most to run down. In terms of building up speed, that was not very significant. Work with what you're given, however.

Without any further preparation, Zorro turned from the pair of performers and sprinted down the length of the car fast as he possibly could. Judging his stride and the remaining room, he picked his moment and propelled himself off the very lip of the edge, leaping into the night in an effort to cross the gap.

Perhaps twenty feet of distance separated the two cars now, not a record attempt in any competition he knew of. He had been making jumps like this since he was ten years old, even before he learned of his family history. The difference lay in that this target was actually moving farther away while he was in flight. An awkward landing could still spell his end. He would also be completely exposed to attack even if he did make it.

There was simply no other means available to fulfill his mission. Trust in fate again, Diego.

Flying through the air, he caught sight of a figure on the opposite roof raising a knife on high. And then a scream tore the night.

* * *

Ari scrambled up the ladder, leaving Hernando behind him. The force of the wind as he rose over the lip of the roof was almost enough to knock him flat. Carefully examining his surroundings, he determined that he was alone up here.

Luck was on his side.

Wasting no time, the circus star cautiously moved down the length of the car, keeping low so as to stabilize his center of gravity. Up here one wrong move would mean more than falling off the tightrope back in the circus. At the very least he had some training in navigating precarious perches like this. Thus it was that he soon found himself safely climbing down into the next gap between cabins.

He was now between the snake/monkey car and the one where they kept the horses. It would be the easiest thing in the world to disconnect the couplers now and cut the tail end of the train loose. But first he had to make certain his prize was really here as he had thought. With that, he opened the door to the horse pens and stepped inside, a knife at the ready.

Luis looked up from a seated position. The propmaster's eyes flickered to the naked blade in his hand, and gave a weak smile. "Isn't that a little overdramatic?" he asked.

Ari returned a much nastier grin. "Just making sure I wouldn't be taken by surprise, eh?" His eyes scanned the room, noting that indeed three horses had been saddled and readied. "Where's the boy?"

"Pietro, it's all right!" Luis called over his shoulder. "You can come out."

A pair of nervous eyes emerged over the lip of a stall. When he caught sight of Ari, they widened further. "You? I thought… perhaps it might be…"

"Who, Anatolia?" And the daredevil gave a laugh. "Dream on, boy. No, ours are the only pretty faces you're bound to see for a little while. Besides…" he nodded over to his partner, "A two-way split means more to go around."

"Split? What do you mean?"

About to return back outside, Ari paused. "What, you think we're doing this out of the kindness of our hearts?" He chuckled scornfully. "Didn't Luis tell you? Your old man's paying us. Five hundred thousand dollars was what Belasco demanded of him. The two of us, we only asked for three hundred. Split between us, that's almost twice the share of a fortune we would have got if we stuck around with this lot. And Don Sanchez certainly liked the numbers better. Maybe it doesn't say much that he bargained over his own son's welfare, but I certainly can't complain."

It was disgusting how wounded the rich boy appeared upon hearing this. Had he really not considered the money angle in all this? Well, even if he hadn't, others most certainly had. And while Ahriman couldn't argue with how much he and the rest had made throughout the years as a result of Belasco's delivery service, the risks were getting too great. Every desperate criminal they hauled around was one more loose mouth flapping about his daring escape. They even had a name for it now among the bawdyhouses and gentlemen's clubs: 'The Conjuror's Trick', they called it. A means of safe passage out of a town, a state, or even a country if need be.

There were simply to many people who knew about them. But Belasco didn't see it that way. As far as he was concerned, what Ari considered a risk was nothing more than another form of 'advertising'. While their clients were sworn to secrecy, there was no guarantee they would consider such an oath truly important. And now criminals knew there was a friend for them if they ever found themselves on the run. Before too long, the authorities would hear of it as well. And that would be the end for this company.

So when the opportunity to get out on a big score came, Ari took it. By striking out on his own this once, he could make himself a very rich man. He had brought Luis in because the stage director was afraid of him and could be controlled. The allure of wealth did the rest. And having an extra set of hands meant there was not only less work for him to do, but also someone to blame in case things went wrong. When this unexpected hitch came up in the form of that masked bandit, Ari had seen Luis throw the smoke bombs and recognized what he was doing. Fortunately he had been able to take his own time getting back here, allowing him to work this new player into his plans. Now Belasco would just assume that some of the masked bandit's accomplices had spirited Pietro off the train. By then, the Sanchez whelp would be on a ship out of the hemisphere and Ari would be close behind, three hundred thousand dollars richer.

After all, why take half a loaf of bread when you could get the whole thing?

His disappearance might not even be noticed for a while. In fact, the fire he intended to set in the cabin later would go a long way towards erasing any evidence. That is, when they found Luis' remains mixed in with the remaining dead horses. A burnt skeleton could be either one of them. Belasco couldn't know for sure who if anyone had betrayed him, and Ari had known Luis wouldn't try to leave him behind because he didn't know knew where in Houston the money Don Sanchez had agreed to pay them could be found. Only Ari did. It was all perfectly planned.

"Ari, listen," Luis chose to pipe up then. "There wasn't time to drug Bong Cha like we planned, so I just stuck a jamb in her door. That should buy us a little time, but Hernando is still somewhere around. Shouldn't we get going before him or that black bastard show up?"

The head of this plot broke off his reverie. "Actually, the bald galoot is just one car up, lying in wait for our new friend. Still, there's no sense hanging around for the show. If Black Cape has friends waiting to help him, we might be in for a real race. Best to get a head start, then."

Ari opened the door and went back outside. He hadn't been lying about that last part. Who could say how many people were now after Pietro's head? There would be no reward unless he brought the boy along with him, his father had been certain he understood that. Now it was time to get things started.

The knife-thrower closed the door and stood out on the windy platform. Bending down, he carefully pulled the locking pin from the couplers holding the cars together. Then he grasped the cut lever and began to pull back on it. This second part of detaching cars was much harder than the first, requiring him to exert far more strength. Still, the lever slowly began to move, and Ari strained harder to overcome the force holding those two steel hands cupped together. The whole time, he couldn't help but fear the door across from him would come open and he would find himself dealing with a furious Hernando.

This did not occur. Instead the protesting lever sank into its open position, and beneath him, the coupler came undone. There was a hiss as the air brake tube was separated. Then the two cars drifted a few inches apart. That was a relief. You were supposed to pull the cut lever on each side to be certain, but one proved enough in this case. The momentum meant they were still fairly close. Still, it wouldn't be long before the locomotive pulled the rest of the train far ahead, leaving him to continue his business uninterrupted.

Satisfied, Ari began to scale the up ladder. For some strange reason, he could have sworn he smelled smoke. Pausing to check, the sensation died. Perhaps just his nose getting ahead of him. Still, now was no time for such things. He had to reach the brake and stop this line of cars.

Reaching the top, he peered over to make certain no one was there. Black Cape or someone else might have gotten past Hernando simply by using the roof. Considering that he was supposed to be guarding that route, it would have been a bit too much irony for him to stomach. Fortunately, the view stretching back to the caboose was clear of any lurking shadows. Time to get to work.

Two years back Belasco had invested in the new Westinghouse air brakes which allowed the conductor in the locomotive to flip a lever and bring the entire train to a stop, making their traveling company much safer in the long run. It had been a well-appreciated gesture. Fortunately, the old-fashioned brake wheels atop every car were still functional, if somewhat out of use. One had only to turn it and you could apply the brakes that way. In the past this had been a time-consuming process, requiring someone to jump from one roof to another and ensure each set was tripped individually all the way down the line. They had lost quite a few brakemen that way. Some part of him suspected David bought the Westinghouse models simply to avoid having to hire another one.

Still, this was exactly the job he now found himself doing. Kneeling down behind the wheel, Ari took hold and began to twist it round and round. It felt slightly stuck from years of disuse. Sweat poured down his face from the effort, and at last it began to budge. Looking up, he could now make out a significant space between him and the departing train. Excellent. All that remained was…

And then he saw it. The back of the other car opened, and there stood Black Cape. For a moment Ari froze, disbelieving. Had the man actually overcome Hernando? It didn't seem possible. But there he stood all the same. And there was a chance he might be able to jump the divide between them. Best take care of this before it became a real problem.

Withdrawing a knife, the eagle-eyed entertainer crept forward a few paces, crouching low to stay out of sight. Black Cape disappeared back inside before he could take a shot, but that probably meant he was looking to get a running start. No problem. It would be child's play to pick him off right after he landed. Just have to wait for the right moment.

Ari steadied himself, arm raised in anticipation and taking careful aim.

Movement in the darkened portal alerted him, and as his target came running back into view he prepared to throw.

As he did, something impacted hard with the back of his knees, causing him to collapse forward.

An instant later he was in more pain than he could ever remember having been in, and the only thing to do was scream.

Flopping on his stomach, Ahriman shrieked at the top of his lungs from the agony pouring into his legs. Desperate to find out what was wrong and put a stop to it, he turned his head and immediately regretted having done so.

It wasn't so much the sight of two arrows protruding out of the back of his knees. Rather it had to do with the fact that two more were being aimed right at him.

* * *

After the assassin almost blinded her, Bong Cha took a while to get her bearings. Even as she had fired, it became clear that her target was only a stick of some sort. Suspicion caused her to glance swiftly behind just in case someone might be creeping up on her. Then the flash of light came. Thankfully she had caught it only on the periphery of her vision, enough to inconvenience but not incapacitate.

Furious, she had heard someone moving by beneath her position. And that settled it for her. Somebody was going to get shot.

The archer had been woken that night by a shuffling at her door. Years of mistrust meant she was a very light sleeper. Grasping her dagger, she had hidden behind the frame in case they tried to break in. But instead, the intruder simply moved on down the hall. Wary, Bong Cha tried to open her door, only to find that it wouldn't budge. She had been locked in.

Breaking it down wasn't very likely. And calling for help never even crossed her mind. Instead she got dressed, slung her bow and quiver on her back and climbed through the window.

Once outside, she had caught sight of the person sneaking along the rooftops towards her. It was no one she recognized, and that made them fair game. Their brief encounter left her even more certain of this, and after recovering her untrammeled vision, she set off along the top of the train in pursuit.

Having not encountered him since, Bong Cha resolved to go back inside to continue her hunt. The place to start seemed obvious, because from her position, she could see that one of the boxcars had a light on at this hour. That was unusual in and of itself, and so the huntress went straight to learn what was going on.

Bong Cha chose not to reveal herself to the occupants, preferring to listen in from outside. Guessing that other members of her band were coming down the train towards her in search of the stranger, she took up position on the ladder at the car's far back end in order to ambush anyone who might try to escape this way. From here she could shoot them no matter which route they chose. Unfortunately, nothing she overheard from that point led to understanding. They were speaking a language that wasn't English, which itself she was only marginally familiar with at best. One of them was a member of their group, however, and the other she failed to recognize. It could be the assassin, or not. Since Mr. Belasco had insisted she not feather his people prematurely, Bong Cha had decided to wait.

Ahriman the Turk joined them indoors soon afterwards. More conversations took place. And then the whole train shook violently around her, almost causing Bong Cha to lose her grip and fall onto the tracks. A slight feeling of deceleration came with it. Peering around the edge of the car, she could make out the next cabin now moving away from them.

The lines had been disconnected. Someone had cut them off from the rest of the train. No good could result from this. Having drawn that conclusion, she resolved to express her dissatisfaction with the person responsible.

A noise overhead gave her an indication of where to start. Craning her neck up cautiously, she spotted Ahriman making his way over to the brake. Once his back was turned and he was busy turning the wheel, she climbed up and strung two arrows. Then the sharpshooter crept towards this admittedly dangerous opponent without making a sound.

His attempts to stop their travel could have indicated guilt or innocence. She heavily favored the former. As if to confirm this, of a sudden he drew one of the knives from his bandolier. Now both her shafts were trained upon him and ready to fly at a moment's notice. But instead of having noticed her, he moved forward and seemed to be preparing to throw at someone.

There was no way to know who Ahriman was aiming at. However, Bong Cha was of the opinion that if anyone was qualified to decide who should live or die, it was herself. Leaving it up to amateurs ran the risk of mistakes being made.

So without further ado, she spitted the man's kneecaps like two apples.

A great deal of screaming was the result. For good measure, she withdrew two more arrows and trained them on him. Her prey turned to see her coming and began babbling at lightning speed, too fast for Bong Cha to pick out more than a few words she recognized.

"babble-babble DON'T SHOOT! babble OH-GOD babble-babble MONEY! babble YOU MONEY babble-babble PIETRO SANCHEZ! PLEASE DON'T SHOOT babble!"

She didn't shoot. Clearly this had something to do with their latest fare. It could very well be Sanchez was the third person inside the cabin. She had never met him, after all. It now seemed very likely that at least one of their number had attempted to betray them, whether with the help of that man in black or not. Regardless, she chose not to kill the traitor at this time. He had mentioned money, after all, and that could very well work in her favor. Instead she contented herself with stripping him of his knife belt. Ahriman made no resistance, only cried out with every single little movement.

There would be time for discussing the reward he mentioned later. With that the Korean grabbed Ahriman by his collar and dragged him over to the front ladder. Descending a few rungs, she then pulled the heavier man down so that he fell in a heap on the platform. His shrieking renewed briefly, after which he appeared to pass out. All the better. He'd made enough noise for one night.

Flinging open the cabin door, Bong Cha crouched low with an arrow aimed within. Smoke was drifting through the air, enough to hinder visibility if not obliterate it. There was no indication of fire, however. A light from a lamp still shone, but other than horses, nothing alive was moving. Cautiously she entered, weapon ready and eyes raking the room for any indication of an enemy. Up, down, left, right…

Well. There's something, at least.

Through the diminishing smoke, the archer picked out what she recognized as Luis off to one side. He was lying flat on his stomach with hands and ankles bound tightly together behind his back. Judging by the limp condition of his limbs, he clearly wasn't conscious. Still breathing, however. Whoever did this had done so in just under a minute, she estimated. And he could still be here. Now to find the owner of the third voice she remembered hearing.

The lady moved in a low crouch down the row of stables. The horses were agitated by the smoke and the sudden shifts in motion they had experienced. Three of them were ready to be ridden out of here. Nothing else seemed off. Every pen she came to Bong Cha peered up over the side quickly, then ducked back down again. So far no one had been hiding within. Alert for any movement, she proceeded to investigate. It would do no good to leave an interloper at her back.

Soon, however, she had made it to the end of the line without having encountered another living soul. Now to proceed to the next car. Satisfied that nothing had escaped her notice, she grabbed the door handle and flung it wide, bringing up her bow to shoot.

Expecting to see another train car, Bong Cha was surprised to find herself looking at an empty stretch of track beneath a moonless sky.

The shock didn't last long. It was obvious what this meant. While she had been busy bringing down Ahriman, no doubt someone had come in down below, subdued Luis, and moved into the next boxcar, which he then loosed from her own. And sure enough, far back down the tracks she could just barely make out a dark blob that might have been the missing train segment.

There could be no doubt as to who was responsible. The man in black. She didn't know his name, his face, or anything about what might have brought him here. All Bong Cha knew was that he was interfering with her livelihood.

And that meant he was as good as dead.

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

David Belasco stood at the back of his unmoving train, staring out the open door. His hand clutched reflexively for the pocket-watch he normally twirled. Finding nothing, he had to settle for drumming his fingers steadily against the wall.

The reason for his displeasure was obvious. His train had lost over a third of its length sometime in the last fifteen minutes. The cars containing his company's horses, tigers, and exotic birds had been detached and left far behind. He couldn't even see them from here. That in and of itself would have been good reason to be upset. But to top it off, it was now becoming painfully obvious that he had lost far more than just some boxcars and animals.

Belasco had ordered the engineer to stop the locomotive after learning what had happened. Enough time had passed that the missing tail-end vehicles should have slowed down under their own volition. There was no danger of them crashing into the car he now stood in even if no one had bothered to throw the brakes on them. Which doubtless they had. This was obviously part of someone's plan against him.

Rounding on the only remaining members of his inner circle, he spoke in a manner devoid of his usual actor's zeal. "Zorro was here. You had a gun. Why didn't you shoot him?"

Anatolia sat with the insensate Hernando's head in her lap. She stroked his hairless scalp absently and offered a disinterested flick of her eyes in Belasco's direction. "You hired an exotic entertainer, not a gunfighter. I won't commit murder for you. That's what Bong Cha is for."

"Has your stage name gotten to your head, _princess?" _he hissed back. "You signed on to this venture. Hell, we all did! There's nothing separating you from me or anyone else. It's no use pretending as if you're above reproach!"

"I may be damned," she replied evenly, "but that's no reason to behave like a monster. I have a…" and her lip quirked, "… conscience."

He looked ready to explode. His jaw thrust out, and the furious mastermind found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Some part of him wanted to rage and stomp and express just how horrible this situation really was, while another facet of his personality urged him to remain calm, not alienate his depleted allies and try to figure out a solution to this problem.

Whipping around, Belasco once more glowered out at the nighttime scenery. He leaned against the frame, feeling it rub against his scalp roughly. A stray thought struck him that the wood was a file he was grinding his brain against, striving to sharpen his thinking into something that would be useful in this situation.

What do I know? Who can I depend on? The two people left behind, for certain. If they had planned to betray me, I doubt they would have troubled to remain within my reach. They ought to know me well enough to understand what that would mean. Better try to reassure them, then.

Adopting a slumped posture, he turned back around and smiled tiredly at his only remaining confidante. "Listen, there's no use arguing about it now. We should prepare for the worst. First off, do you have any idea where the others might be?"

No need to ask whom he meant. "If you haven't found any of them by now, I think it's safe to assume they got left somewhere behind us."

This conversation was not serving to improve his mood.

"You didn't see any of them? Ari, Luis?"

She shook her head.

"Not even Bong Cha?"

Again no.

The theater manager considered this, drawing a deep breath and tapping his fingers slowly against the doorframe. "We can reverse, go back and pick them up," he muttered. "Obviously they separated at this car for a reason. They wanted the horses."

"Obviously," she responded sardonically.

Belasco banged the cage in a fury, causing the monkeys within to yelp. "If you don't have anything useful to say, then kindly keep QUIET! I need to figure this out!"

"Somebody already has." Anatolia returned a challenging stare to his incensed features. "I can't hazard a guess as to how many of the others are involved, but this Zorro person clearly has it in for you."

"Me?" Belasco scowled. "Why me?"

"I didn't ask, and he didn't hang around to tell. He just said that you were finished." Strangely, Anatolia found herself smiling at the memory. "It seemed to me like he was a man of his word."

His eyes went wide, mouth coming open on a quick inhalation of breath. Slowly Belasco shook his head from side to side. "No. Some… half-baked _myth _will not bring _me _down, do you hear? I am the head of this company, I built it up from nothing, and people had best RECOGNIZE that! I've been taking shit from swine who thought they were better than me since I was a boy, and this is MY TIME to shine! I have not _begun_ to collect on what the world owes ME!"

Hernando stirred, groaning, and Anatolia peered closely at him. When he failed to awake, she heaved a tired sigh and rubbed her temples. "Would you listen to yourself, Belasco? You're sounding like one of your own characters. You act as though your life is a play, and maybe that's been true enough up 'til now. But you're not the hero, you know. Just another villain, same as me. " The beautiful woman gave a rueful chuckle then. "Actually, this whole affair is just as tiresome as any play you've ever written. If I had paid money to see it, I'd ask for a refund."

He looked like he was ready to strike her, but before any such thing could happen, another member of their company came bursting in wearing his nightshirt.

"David!" the actor gasped. "Thank God, you've got to come quick! We've got trouble, there's a group of soldiers outside the train!"

"What? Soldiers?" A measure of fear crept into his voice. "You mean… _Mexicans?"_

"What? No!" The man gave him a funny look. "American cavalry, down from Fort Merril! I thought they were going to help, but they said they've come because someone tipped them off that there was something illegal going on aboard our train! They want to talk to you!"

David paled. "All right. I'll be there in just a minute."

When they were alone together again, he looked to Anatolia. "Seems your Zorro planned ahead. But it doesn't matter. Sanchez is gone, and as far as anyone knows, he was never even here. And no one will say otherwise. _Right, _my dear?"

She smiled wanly. "Whatever you say, boss."

With a last twist of his lip, he strode past her to deal with this new difficulty.

* * *

Pietro was at a loss once again. He had been preparing his steed when the door opened behind him and Luis gave a shout. Then there was smoke and the sound of a struggle. Overhead somebody started screaming, who he couldn't tell. Unnerved, he rushed to see what was happening.

And then a boot hit him right in the gut. The next thing he knew, Pietro was doubled up on the floor coughing, bound, and gagged.

Oh, God, not again.

A few seconds later he was hoisted up and roughly shoved down the aisle. They passed over to the next compartment, at which point he was flung to the ground. Birds chirped in their cages by the dozen. It was absolutely mind-blowing, being yanked from safety to capture back and forth like this. And he was so very tired. For the time being, he resolved to simply lie there and conserve his strength in preparation for whatever lay ahead.

The car gave a rumbling jerk, just as when Ari uncoupled them from the rest. He guessed that the same thing had happened. Then there was a squealing sound, and Pietro actually slid across the floor. The birds squawked in alarm, flying from one perch to another. After a few seconds he realized they were slowing down considerably. Someone must have thrown the brakes.

There came a thump, followed by footsteps coming closer. When he looked up, the dazed youth found himself confronted by the unsmiling dark phantom from before.

"Get up," his attacker demanded.

Pietro only shook his head stubbornly. It was childish, he knew, but he was done being manhandled about like a sack of grain. Unfortunately, this person did not seem willing to argue the point. Instead he hoisted him up with easy strength and shoved Sanchez stumbling along.

"Why are you doing this?" Pietro gasped as they moved into the boxcar that held the wild beasts. Tigers eyed them with a chilling disinterest, like the only thing that prevented the two humans from becoming their next meal were the metal bars between them. "For mercy's sake, what have I ever done to you?"

"Nothing, boy," his tormentor supplied back. "It wouldn't surprise me if someone of your low character could not understand."

This actually served to rouse his spirit, and Pietro jerked suddenly away, turning to confront that shadowy villain. "Who do you think you are? Just a man in a mask, what can you possibly know about who I am? You think I have no regret for what I did? God knows the many nights I have lain awake begging for his forgiveness! I regret my crime as much as any man ever did. Being a sinner does not make me evil! Your judgments hold no weight, only God can determine the worth of my soul!"

"Is that so, Sanchez?" the masked man replied coolly. "Then I will do as you advise, and leave the fate of your soul to God."

Abruptly a sword flashed from its scabbard. The lethal tip pricked him right in the sternum, causing Pietro to go rigid with fright. Around them, the tigers roused, scenting his terror enough to make them prowl hungrily around the pair.

"I could deliver your wretched self up to the Creator right now for His consideration."

The sword slashed sidewise blindingly swift, causing the teen to emit a strangled moan. His shirt parted along the cut. However, there was no pain, nor blood.

"But I am not so arrogant as to think I can divine God's plan enough to know when you should die." Another sweep of the blade, cleaving cloth but only grazing skin.

"Heaven or hell must wait. As long as your heart is beating, you are answerable here and now for every crime you commit against a fellow human being. I need look no further than my own soul to need a reason why."

One last horizontal slice in the same direction as the first, and there was a large 'Z' cut into his shirt. Zorro's weapon slipped back into its sheathe.

"The soul we will leave to God's mercy, then. In the meantime, the man will face justice during his time on Earth."

And with that he spun Pietro about and shoved him towards the back of the train.

* * *

The time it took to throw on a pair of pants and shoes gave him the chance to cool down a little. It took some effort to force a smile onto his face, but by the time Belasco reached the front of the train, he was fairly certain he had a version that wouldn't spook small children. In his experience, soldiers were about as troublesome. And just as easily handled.

"Greetings," he said upon stepping onto the platform. "I am David Belasco, the owner of this company. What brings you gentlemen to us this evening?"

Before him in a circle of torchlight were a couple of U.S. army officers on horseback. A company of about fifty rangers milled to their rear. The sight of so many rifles, pistols and uniforms left him feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Nothing like a gun and a badge to let a man know how little his prized intellect really counted in the world.

One of the officers boasting a saber and shoulder-length curly hair patted his horse's neck and spoke soothingly to the beast. He then looked up with a frown half-hidden beneath drooping whiskers. "Mr. Belasco, I'm Captain Cunningham from Fort Merril. This is Sergeant Dimes."

He indicated to his left where a squat stubbly-cheeked brute sat sweating atop his horse. The captain then peered keenly up and down the length of the train, where numerous windows showed the faces of surprised and sleepy travelers roused from their beds. "I see you and your entourage have found yourselves in some difficulty this evening."

"Yes, indeed," David sighed and clapped his hands together, affecting the air of a much-put-upon businessman. "We had something of an uproar, you might say. An oil lamp was knocked over that started a fire in the rear cars. We were forced to cut a few loose to prevent the flames from spreading. Since fortune seems to have smiled on us by sending you fine folk to our rescue, I wonder if we might prevail upon you to ride down the tracks and reassure our friends left behind that all is well and we will be rejoining them shortly?"

Cunningham crossed his hands on the pommel of his mount and leaned forward. "Actually, it wasn't fortune that brought us together, sir. Rest assured I've already dispatched some of my men to see to your lagging kin. The truth is we received a telegraph from Laredo early this evening warning us that a private train coming up from Mexico was engaged in smuggling across the border."

David's mouth had fallen open at the word 'smuggling'. He directed a clearly shocked look at the soldiers, then appeared to collect himself. "Captain, I… I think you must be mistaken. My people are an honest crew to the last man. I insist upon it! There is no way they, or I for that matter, would ever engage in anything so despicable as what you say!"

"I'm pleased to hear it, Mr. Belasco. With that being said, I'm sure you wouldn't begrudge me the opportunity to set my own mind at ease regarding this very serious matter." He frowned beneath bushy brows. "The U.S. Army would be very appreciative if you would kindly allow us to search through your belongings and learn whether or not there is any merit to the charge."

"Ah, you see, we've had a very taxing past few days, as you must understand." David played his part to the hilt, wringing his hands and looking quite put out. "Is there no chance we could put this off 'til the morning and let my people get a few hours sleep? They're all very tired from our adventure this evening."

"We won't take long in our search, I assure you." Captain Cunningham made a gesture to the men behind him, who turned their mounts and proceeded to ride down the tracks. "If you cooperate, and everything is found to be in order, we'll offer you all our help in resolving your difficulties and see you safely on your way."

"Well, when you put it like that," the director flashed a smile at him, "we'd be delighted to have you aboard." He indicated for them to come inside. "I'll let my employees know what is happening and then assist you however you need. Your troops might see a few things that shock them, my good man, but certainly nothing criminal. Of that you have my word."

"Very good, then." Cunningham and Dimes dismounted, slapping the dust from their navy blue uniforms. They then marched up the steps and moved past David, who graciously allowed them to pass by.

No peril at all, Belasco assured himself. Just need to get these fools satisfied and off my train. Even if they do locate the back cars, I doubt they'll find Pietro still there. This is just a nuisance I have to contend with before getting back to my real business. I'm safe. I'm protected.

I'm feeling ill.

* * *

Zorro pocketed the thin whistle he had just blown on and proceeded to lean against the rail, waiting. Squatting beside him, Pietro was far less sanguine about their situation. His ankles were now tied as well, rendering him immobile save for the possibility of crawling like a worm. They were at the rear of the caboose, which had finally come to a halt a few minutes back. When asked what they were waiting for, Zorro simply replied, "Our ride."

He took note of how badly the kid was trembling. Not a malicious man by nature, Zorro still felt one thing should be made clear from this point on. "There's no sense in your trying to escape. By now Belasco and his cronies are dealing with the American authorities, whom I contacted back in Laredo. If I hadn't gotten you off the train in time, you would have been arrested for entering the country illegally. After that I couldn't say for sure what your fate might have been, so count yourself fortunate. At least down in Mexico you have some allies to call upon."

Sanchez merely shook his head with tears streaming down his cheeks. "They're going to _kill _me!" he blubbered. "It doesn't matter what I do, the general is going to have my head! Can't you see that you're sending me off to _die? _What kind of man _are_ you?"

The black rider gave a contemptuous snort. "I find it laughable to be asked the question by you, _boy_." He continued to scan the horizon, and was preparing to blow another blast on his whistle when suddenly movement caught his eye. Squinting into the soft pall of night, he at last caught sight of a pitch-black form galloping towards them. Ah, Tornado, you've proven my faith in you once again.

Less than a minute later the great stallion pulled up before them, sweating slightly but looking none the worse at trying to keep a steady pace with a locomotive. Having followed the tracks to join them, Zorro would have preferred to give him time to rest. But there was no guarantee they were not about to have company soon, whether soldiers or not. It was time to get moving.

With that he yanked Sanchez upright, ignoring his pitiful whimpering. Zorro hoisted his spindly frame off the ground and flung him over Tornado's back in front of the saddle. Leaping atop his steed, he then urged him to a swift trot. With one hand on the reins and the other preventing Pietro from falling, they took off south, following the railroad tracks.

The stars were shining down on them as they bore towards Mexico. It was good to be riding again, Zorro reflected. Considering how many surprises had been in store for him on this night's work, it felt strange not to have to look over his shoulder anymore.

But just to be certain, he did.

And the flash of white he saw gave him enough warning to duck flat, seconds before an arrow whistled through the space his body had previously occupied.

"YAH!"

At his command, Tornado spurred forth, long legs churning the earth with every stride.

Risking a look behind, Zorro could still make out what he recognized to be one of the white horses from Belasco's train coming towards them. It was too dark to see clearly, but he had no doubt who the rider must be. The archer, Hwa-Rang. She hadn't given up as one might have hoped. While he could admire her dedication, things were far too precarious right now to take any unnecessary risks.

That last shot had come close more through luck than skill. In conditions this close to full darkness, with the concealing color of his apparel and that of his horse, she would be hard-pressed even to draw a bead on them. In spite of this, he couldn't run the risk of her tailing him all the way back to Mexico. The best course here was to let Tornado fly and lose her in the dark. Her mount might be fresher, but there was no way that glorified show-horse could keep up with his own for long.

Ignoring Pietro's cries, Zorro put heels to his partner's sides, and with that the valiant animal seemed to shake off any lingering lethargy and might as well have sprouted wings from his hooves for how fast they now flew.

The night was his greatest ally. Moving away from the tracks, he urged Tornado on. It wouldn't take much time before they were lost in the gloom. Attempting to follow the sound of his passing would prove fruitless for her. By the time dawn arose they would be well in the lead and able to…

Without warning the sun rose and lit the whole area with its blinding golden light.

Next came a loud boom, and as Zorro blinked in stupefaction, Tornado gave a jerk and screamed in pain.

Then the lights went out, leaving him in the dark in more ways than one.

What in heaven's name just happened? Whatever it may be, the black stallion was no longer running quite as fast. He seemed to be favoring his right side, as though it might be paining him.

Looking back, Zorro was shocked to see an arrow protruding from Tornado's flank. Blood gleamed darkly against the pure black surface.

Then another explosion of light came, and immediately he yanked the reins to the left. This time in the ensuing flash he actually caught a glimpse of the deadly missile streaking by them. In that way Zorro had his answer for what was happening.

Of course, he had completely forgotten. He had seen it at her performance; this woman employed arrows tipped with fireworks. She was using them to get her bearings and see where they were in order to fire off her deadlier arsenal. Tornado had been trained to ignore loud noises, but the bright light distracted him all the same. Meanwhile Hwa-Rang's circus mare was conditioned against both as a result of its profession, so it remained steady on its course while his horse balked, making them an easy target.

She can't have too many of those firecracker shots. As if to refute this, another one exploded close overhead. Once again he turned the stallion's momentarily blind head and narrowly missed two more arrows.

They're not even meant for me, the determined avenger realized. She's aiming at Tornado. She knows I've no means of escape without him. Already the wound was affecting his performance. Devoted and powerful though he might be, the black horse couldn't be expected to triumph under these conditions.

At this point Zorro abandoned any notion of eluding her. The only dependable option was attack.

Having reached this decision, he hauled up violently on the reins. Tornado dug his hooves into the earth and cantered back madly, striving to slow down. It was enough. Grabbing Pietro, the courageous crusader threw himself from the saddle, emitting a short sharp whistle as he did. Even before they hit the ground, the signal had its desired effect and Tornado took off as fast as he could once more. The two of them rolled along in the dirt, finally coming to a halt.

Immediately Zorro was up on his feet. As he had hoped, the white horse disregarded his mount and was coming towards them instead, a pale gray ghost in the lightless prairie. She wants Sanchez, after all. And possibly me. But she'll find the Fox is not to be taken lightly.

* * *

Bong Cha noticed the sudden alteration in her target. Now there was a large dark mass rolling free, and even like this she could tell the enemy horse was riderless. Whether it was just the man brought to ground or Sanchez as well, she understood what must be done. The black rider must be disposed of before anything else.

She had employed the same trick he used on her, blinding him, and to far greater effect. His steed was wounded. A clever man, he clearly realized his chances of outrunning them had lessened considerably as a result. Going on the offensive was the only choice he could make. While he hadn't displayed any manner of firearms or projectiles, Bong Cha knew he could very well be armed as such. A close quarters fight was to be avoided. He had a sword, after all, and clearly knew something of combat. Her best tactic remained dispatching him from a distance.

Slowing her mount, the archer from the East prepared another dazzler shot. Lighting it with a snap of her flint-tipped gloves, she launched the missile over their general area and swiftly proceeded to notch two arrows at the same time. Still moving, when the firework went off and allowed her to see, it was to catch a glimpse of the assassin before he and Sanchez were enveloped in a cloud of smoke.

Bong Cha let her bow go slack. If she fired into the cloud, one of her arrows might hit Pietro. While not of any inclination to be concerned about his welfare, she realized that her fortune depended upon his continued health. Therefore she held back on shooting and proceeded to prance carefully around that spot.

She had a limited supply of arrows, it wouldn't do to waste them firing blindly. The same went for him, however. She doubted the man had many of those smoke bombs, and the fact he hadn't used his flash sticks again meant he was probably already out of those. Still meant there might be more to come.

What is he doing in there?

Her answer came when a small spark arced up into the air.

There was no need to ask. She had seen enough of that distinctive glitter back in California to guess what it must portend.

Dynamite.

It had been a blind throw, but still she banked her mount hard away from it. The tiny star bounced and rolled across the ground, and then exploded with a deafening boom. Rocks and bits of dirt came pattering down all around them. The shock of it jarred her bones. Used to such displays, Bong Cha's horse didn't falter. She herself came back around just in time to see another stick come sailing out of the smoke. There was a high-pitched whistling sound right before this too blew up, but she paid it no mind.

That one hadn't been close, but it came near enough to make her suspect the black rider must be somewhere on the edge of the cloud, allowing him to gauge her position before throwing. Riding around warily, she trained her eyes on that menacing fogbank, searching for some clue as to her attacker's whereabouts. It would clear soon enough, depending on how many of those smoke pellets he had. 'Til then she just had to keep him from getting too accurate with his throws.

Holding her bowstring tense, Bong Cha searched for an opportunity. The spark from when he lit the fuse. That would be her chance. Just have to wait for him to reveal himself that way, and pick him off when he threw. It would take expert timing. If she nailed him before he flung it off, the dynamite would fall near him and explode, killing her attacker, and possibly Sanchez as well. The risk was great. Just have to depend on my own skills to see me through. May the gods guide my hand.

There he is!

Another flash in the night, and she had what she needed. The telltale sputter of the dynamite let her pick out his location. She drew back two arrows and waited for him to throw. Watch for the motion. Pick him off clean the instant it's in the air, before he can move. All her attention focused on that blossoming flower of light.

Come what may, dark rider, you're mine.

And then she heard the sound of a horse's hooves.

Spinning in her seat, Bong Cha saw the black stallion charging right at her. There was no time to turn, only enough to unhook her feet from the stirrups before it plowed right into her horse.

The white mount went down with a scream followed by its inky mate. Bong Cha was flung off by the force of the collision. She rolled to keep from being crushed under the flailing animals. The impact was forceful, but adrenaline and long conditioning kept her from feeling any pain. In just a moment she was back on her feet. The bow was still in hand, and she had it notched in preparation.

It occurred to the young warrior that her adversary had never meant to hit her with his explosives, only use the noise and confusion to prevent her from sensing his stallion's approach until it was too late. That whistle she heard before must have called the black horse back to do just what it had.

A talented animal. She would keep it for herself after its master was dead. And with that in mind…

Sure enough a billowing shadow was racing towards her position. His horse was still tangled up with her own, so that was one less thing to worry about. If he thought her easy pickings now, he was sorely mistaken. There was no sign of dynamite. He must have snuffed it, possibly intending to capture her alive. That or he was out of ammo and the last one was a bluff. Bong Cha had no such weaknesses either way.

As she took aim at his approaching form, the archer stepped swiftly backwards just in case. No sense assuming the first shot would kill. It would be a mistake to let him bridge the gap between them. Not to worry, really. At this distance he was good as dead.

With maybe forty feet between them, she fired.

Three arrows flew, one aimed straight at him and the others to the left and right. No matter if he dodged to either side, one would connect.

But he didn't deviate from his course, nor even duck and roll as she expected. Instead even as Bong Cha drew her next quarrel, she heard one of her shots impact with a whispery thud.

The shadow didn't falter. He kept coming. Impressed at his endurance, she drew and fired a trio again. Once more two went wide and one connected. She heard it.

And he didn't stop.

Unnerved, the woman backed farther away. Only twenty feet separated them now. Was this some kind of demon? No, he was just running on desperation. That's what she told herself as she aimed down the length of her bow. He was human. He could die. He _would_ die.

Bong Cha prepared to shoot, when a crack split the air.

The next thing she knew, her hands were empty.

Things happened quickly after that. She looked up to see her bow flying up against the sky. Immediately her hand went to pull the dagger from her belt, intending to still fight and perhaps retrieve her main weapon. Then something coiled around her ankle, and gave a prodigious yank. Bong Cha fell with a cry.

The shadow man was upon her then. He flung what appeared to be a bullwhip away and unloosed a coil of rope from his belt. As she struggled to stand, he cast the lasso around her, trapping her arms tight against her upper body. Her wrist was seized in a grip of steel, the knife plucked loose and thrown away. Despite her angry struggles, in just under twenty seconds he had her tied hand and foot.

Furious, Bong Cha looked up at the man who stood smirking over her. In one hand he held the broad-brimmed hat he had worn. One of her arrows was lodged in the rim, while another had pierced the top.

Holding the headwear up like a shield before his chest, the black-clad thief flipped it around so she could see the inside. Gleaming faintly under the starlight was a thin circle of polished steel sewn all around the brim. Another such piece of armor plating adorned the crown. And so she knew. It was this he had used to defend himself with while making his approach. All the same it had been a reckless move. If he misjudged her target, he might have wound up with a shaft lodged in his brain.

Unfortunately, she had aimed for the chest. And apparently he anticipated that in advance.

"Nice shot," Zorro complimented her, plucking out the quarrels.

"_Yumago!" _and Bong Cha spit at him.

Neither understood the other, but the implication was clear. With that the victor of this night's battle flung his kicking conquest over one shoulder and marched back to secure their horses. Checking the gold pocket-watch he had picked up on the train, Zorro judged things to be going as close to his schedule as one could have hoped.

* * *

"Mr. Belasco, I have no idea where your pocket-watch may have gotten to, and I'll thank you not to make any groundless accusations. The U.S. Army does not steal."

With that the Captain turned away from him and went back to calmly regarding the search process. For his part, Belasco was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. That damned Cunningham had cleared out the whole train, himself included, and from within they could hear the sounds of wood being pried apart while more of those thick-fingered oafs crawled over the roofs, tapping and peering about.

"I hope you intend to put back together anything your men dismantle," he said in somewhat clipped tones.

The Captain doffed his hat and ran a hand through sweat-soaked curls. "My men know their business. Just relax and it'll be over soon, Mr. Belasco."

Shivering in a thin coat, the fuming thespian tired to restrain his temper. He knew that there was nothing that could incriminate him. They had been forced to admit that an intruder had been on the train, but hardly anyone except himself knew what that really meant. There was no way this pack of savages could accuse him of running a human smuggling operation if they didn't find any humans being smuggled!

However, the mere fact that this was happening served as a reminder of just how powerless he could really be. Maybe when this affair was behind him he should look into running for public office in California or New York, or at least backing a candidate. Having friends in high places generally helped get you out of life's little peccadilloes, and the higher the better.

Still, for the time being he was safe. Unless Anatolia opened her mouth, which he highly doubted. Casting a look over to where the lady was hunkered down along with some other women by a brazier, he considered their relationship. While a very useful member of his troupe, she chose not to treat his orders with the same level of respect others had learned. If this went on, he would have to take steps to remind her just who was in charge around here. Yes, there was no doubt he…

"Captain Cunningham!"

Looking up, he saw that chunky sergeant run puffing up to his commander.

"Sir, we've found it."

David went cold. What did he say? _Found _it? Found WHAT? What could they possibly have turned up? And what did he mean by 'it'?

The two officers went back aboard the train. Recovering, Belasco hurried in pursuit. He spoke not a word as they moved through the cabin. This must be a trick. They were hoping to rattle him into giving something away. But I won't fall for it, no, they'll soon see just what kind of man they're dealing with here.

Several soldiers were milling about one of the actor's sleeping compartments. Upon reaching that spot, Cunningham and Dimes went inside. Belasco followed them making all attempts to look confused and shaken, which wasn't very hard right now.

He stopped in the doorway. A few planks of the small chamber's floor had been pried up and stacked against one wall. And as Belasco watched, the Captain reached down into the hole and pulled something out. He then turned and regarded the company head with a baleful glare.

"Can you offer any explanation for this, sir?"

David could not.

There in the captain's hand was a rifle.

As he stood stunned, Cunningham looked to one of his men. "How many did you find?"

"Eight here, sir. They look like Mexican Army issue to me. Spanish models, and pretty good quality."

The officer grunted, still watching Belasco closely. When nothing came by way of an explanation, he brushed past the speechless director and back into the hall.

As he walked away, David regained control of himself and went chasing after. "Captain, I… have no idea what this means! Please, you must believe, I didn't… I mean, it's impossible that something like this could be happening, I…!"

As they stepped off the train, David trying and failing to explain something he didn't understand himself, another navy-clad soldier came running up. "Captain, we found three more caches of weapons and some stockpiles of ammunition hidden away with 'em. Some were even wrapped up with tent poles, more than forty rifles so far. The boys all agree, they're Mexican by the look of them."

"I see," Cunningham nodded.

"I DON'T!" Belasco shrieked. The Army commander rounded on him with a frown, but this was too much for him to take in one night. It was simply more unexplainable events than he was prepared to handle. Anxious actors and performers looked on in increasing agitation as they watched their showmaster completely lose his cool. "This is INSANE! I have no idea where those weapons came from or who put them there! I've been framed! It's all some kind of horrible MISTAKE, it just doesn't make any sense!"

The bristly-faced captain pulled out a pipe during this tirade and lit it. When David stopped to catch his breath, he peered at him through a haze of smoke. "Actually, there's no need to think very hard on the matter. The telegraph we received informed us that this train was smuggling guns up from Mexico to be sold to Hopi rebels. Those savages would pay a high price for firearms of this caliber. Obviously greed was your motivation. Unless you can offer me some… explanation for how you could be travelling with such cargo, I will have to place you and everyone else here under arrest."

Cries went up from the people around them, proclaiming innocence even from those who had no idea what was going on. Belasco was one of them. He swayed on his feet, feeling lightheaded. What was the explanation?_ 'I couldn't possibly be a gun-smuggler, because I only smuggle criminals?' _Now wouldn't that be a ridiculous defense. Maybe he could pay the man off to let them be on their way. He had money to spare, after all, and military types were known for being susceptible to bribes. But before even that, how exactly did those guns come to be on my train? When could someone have possibly managed to hide forty rifles without…?

A realization hit him then, but before he could ponder it too closely, shouts and cries came from around them.

Looking up, Belasco was only mildly surprised to find a company of cavalry galloping in to join them. Mixed with those steeds was a white one that looked very familiar.

The thing that actually snapped him back to reality was the sight of Bong Cha draped over the saddle, with a rope looping under the horse's belly to tie her hands and feet together.

"Sir," one of the mounted men supplied upon reigning up, "we found this woman tied to a horse that came wandering up the tracks. Think she might be one of the circus folk, but we can't get a word out of her. It don't seem like she understands English. We weren't sure what to do, so we brought her back here to you."

While the soldiers conversed, Belasco continued to stare at the captive archer. Her gaze came up to meet his. The expression he saw there made him cringe and take an involuntary step back. There was nothing remotely human in those flat black eyes, and much as he wanted to ask her what had happened, he found that he could not bring himself to approach this woman right now for any reason.

'_You promised me… No cheating either way. Or someone dies.'_

Belasco remembered those words. Back then they had been a threat. Now it seemed more like an inevitability. They're bound to let her go eventually. No way they'd believe him if he accused her of being behind it all. That was too farfetched. And unless he wanted to be a cooling corpse the moment someone loosened those ropes, it seemed clear he had best revise his previous estimate of how much money he had available to pass out bribes.

Clearly there were forces at work this night beyond his comprehension. Well, a man has to be humble. She had been promised $80,000, after all. I can afford to part with that much, I think. It's not so much a loss, he reasoned with himself, as it is buying something very precious to me. Namely, my continued well-being.

He would try to talk his way out of this, bargain if need be. If worse came to worst, David was prepared to do something quite desperate. He was prepared to tell the truth, take full responsibility and confess to having indeed been aware of the guns on his train as well as being the sole conspirator in this plot. With what he suspected of how they really got there, it wouldn't take much effort to concoct a story that would seem plausible. His confession would allow the rest to go free. And that way no one else in his company would have to suffer for his failings.

He was like a father to them, after all. And a man must do his duty by his family.

So resolved, he went to speak to Captain Cunningham. As he did, Belasco passed by Bong Cha, and while striving to avoid making eye contact with her, something caught his attention. He only got a brief glance, but it appeared as if a symbol of sorts had been drawn onto the seat of her pants with charcoal.

Despite being smudged, it looked very much like a 'Z'.

Belasco stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself and proceeding on his way. Everything was clear now. He had challenged a legend and lost. Somewhere out there, the Fox had taken his prize. Shivering in the cold, David Belasco found himself deeply regretting the foe he had made for himself.

He then went to give the performance of his life.

* * *

Colonel Mañuelito rubbed his hands and breathed into them before donning his gloves again. Behind him the half-dozen soldiers he had brought sat astride their horses looking rather bored. They had been told nothing about why they were here. His superior had insisted on it, and frankly, Mañuelito agreed with that decision. He himself was uncomfortable about this whole affair. Imagine what the men would think if they knew the purpose for their being out on the prairies tonight?

On a low bank of hills overlooking the Mexican-United States border, his small patrol kept watch. They had been out here for the last hour. This was the place specified. The exact time given was around dawn, and on the horizon, the sky was beginning to clear in presage to the sun's rise. Rocks and bushes were starting to come into individual focus. Lizards scuttled into cracks, and somewhere in the distance could be heard the lowing of a herd of cattle.

Suddenly there was movement in the distance. Frowning, the Colonel removed his telescope and peered through it.

Arrayed behind him, the soldiers saw their leader stiffen in his saddle with a gasp. None of them questioned him, however, and Mañuelito lowered the eyeglass with a look of wonder on his face.

A few minutes later, everyone saw the dust kicked up by a single horse approaching them. That lone rider crossed the river at a shallow spot and entered Mexican territory. Dressed in black from head to toe, he rode a mount of equal hue. Now hushed whispers passed among those disciplined fighters. Disbelief soon gave way to interest and possibly excitement.

When Zorro rode up before them, every man in that force felt like a child again.

The Colonel recovered first. Cantering up before the masked man, he noted the person draped limply over the horse's back. For a moment Mañuelito thought the body might be dead, but then that pitiful form lifted its head at his approach, and at long last he found himself looking upon the face of Pietro Sanchez.

That sense of wonder had returned. The veteran officer studied the other figure astride the black stallion. Only the lower part of his face was visible, and considering the time of day, even that much seemed cast in shadow along with the rest of him. There was no way to identify this man. Assuming he was indeed a man and not a spirit. But no, that was nonsense. You are a soldier, he admonished himself. Focus on the task at hand. And so he spoke as he had been instructed.

"I am Colonel Mañuelito. I have been asked to tell you that…" He squirmed a little inside, but managed to get it out. "… 'The _Alcalde_ is a fat-head'."

"So he is," a light voice responded. And at that, Zorro appeared to relax. "Pleased to meet you, Colonel. I believe you have been looking for this one."

With that he slid Pietro off so that the teenager went sprawling in the dirt. As this happened, Mañuelito noted that there was a wad of bandages stuck onto the horse's flank. Clearly the extraction had not been without its dangers. As two of his men came forward to take Sanchez into custody, the Colonel studied their mysterious helper. Zorro regarded him right back.

"I still don't understand. What was all this about?" Mañuelito demanded as they dragged the prisoner away. "I did as I was ordered. While we were searching the train, my men hid guns amongst their belongings. Why would that be necessary? If you somehow knew Sanchez would be onboard, what prevented you from simply getting him out before they left Nuevo Laredo?"

"My reason for being involved in this affair was not the same as yours," Zorro responded. "You came to bring a murderer to justice, and I aided your mission because it was something I believe in. But my true goal was not to catch Pietro Sanchez, but to destroy the Conjuror's Trick."

"Pardon?"

The dark swordsman flipped the cape over his shoulder. "For years now, there have been whispers of a secret system of smuggling criminals at work in the Americas. It was known as the Conjuror's Trick, and its presence served as a means for men to break the law and escape punishment, provided they could pay for the service. For two years I have ridden across the borders between nations trying to learn if this blasphemy truly existed, and who might be responsible for it. In time my investigations uncovered evidence that pointed to Belasco's International Artistic Company as the source of these rumors. None of it could be used in a court of law, and so I was forced to bide my time in the hopes of having them be caught in the act."

"But Belasco planned too well. Whenever it seemed as though the authorities were closing in on him, he did not hesitate to murder whatever criminal was in his care to prevent himself from being found out. Their bodies were disposed of either by being dumped in the wilderness or, I suspect, fed to the carnivorous beasts that were in his circus. Eventually I realized that if I wanted to bring this enterprise down, I would need to do so in a manner that Belasco could not have anticipated. So when I learned that he and his gang were coming to Nuevo Laredo by Don Tomás Sanchez's invitation, I knew that it must be to transport Pietro Sanchez out of the country. That was when I hatched this plan to use the military to do what I myself could not. Now both our tasks are accomplished. My sources in the States tell me that Belasco has been taken into custody for weapons smuggling. My role in this play is over."

Mañuelito was staring now, and couldn't stop. "But who are you? Why did the General tell me to cooperate with you in resolving his nephew's murder? I just don't understand!"

Zorro only threw back his head and laughed. The great black stallion reared up on its hind legs beneath him, trumpeting a war-cry that caused the platoon's mounts to retreat from it. Before any of them could react, he spun his horse's head and took off to the west, raising a cloud of dust with his passing.

As if on command, the sun came up then. Even as the astonished soldiers watched, it seemed as if that midnight marauder appeared to fade away from their vision, his dark cloak becoming a mere shadow against the landscape that disappeared when they blinked their eyes. In seconds they found themselves alone on that barren plain.

* * *

In Mexico City, Colonel Mañuelito sat in a reception room. The General had been receiving a guest when he arrived, and he had been requested to wait before making his appearance.

After just a few minutes, the large oaken door swung open. Mañuelito rose to attention, but instead of his superior, a young man dressed in fine gray clothes with a canary-yellow cummerbund came out. To his surprise, the Colonel found himself recognizing this person, and as the dandy traipsed down the way toward him he managed to remember the name just as a broad smile split the other man's face.

"Captain Mañuelito! What a surprise meeting you like this!"

"Don de la Vega," he greeted him, not bothering to correct the imbecile on his rank. "What business do you have here?"

"Oh, well, you see Don Sanchez asked me to come and oversee his son's trial, keep him informed of how it goes. Old Tomás has been bedridden ever since Pietro's capture, some of us think he's not even long for this world. Naturally I wanted to help out in whatever way I could!"

And no doubt you jumped at the chance of visiting Mexico City on another man's tab, Mañuelito thought darkly. Out loud, he responded with, "I meant why are you in the General's office. Are you and he acquainted?"

"No, but our fathers were." Diego was toying with a carnation in his breast pocket disinterestedly. "It just seemed polite to stop by and assure him my being here in no way meant I supported the man who killed his nephew. It's simply a courtesy among gentlemen, you might say."

"I see. Please excuse me now." Mañuelito made to brush past him, but Diego turned and kept pace as though not having heard his dismissal.

"You know, I really should thank you. If it weren't for your being in Nuevo Laredo, I would never have hooked up with the most lovely young woman!"

"Is that so?" He wished deeply this little worm would leave him alone.

"Yes! She was one of the entertainers in that circus…" He stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry, 'theatrical troupe', she always corrects me about that. Anyway, her name's Anatolia, and we really hit it off the last night they were in town! I've been writing to her ever since. We've become very close. She tells me all sorts of interesting things going on in America, and I send her money! The dear lady has opened a theater company with some friends of hers, I've been up to visit a few times, never been to America before that, but let me tell you, they have the most splendid performances! You should…!"

Mañuelito reached the door, flung it open and then slammed it in the chattering idiot's face.

"All right, well, nice talking to you, Captain!"

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the Colonel strode across the room and saluted his commanding officer seated behind the desk. "Sir, I'm pleased to see you are well."

Rising, the General gave the same salute. A hale man in his seventies with a shock of bright white hair and small curled moustaches, General Mendoza actually projected the air of a mission priest rather than a lifelong military man. His eyes crinkled as he chuckled good-naturedly. "I see young Diego was informing you of his latest infatuation."

"Yes, sir." There was no hiding the distaste in his voice. "It disturbs me to see people like that hovering around you, General. They are a bygone relic in this new era."

This brought a dismissive wave of his hand as Mendoza seated himself again. "The perils of involving myself in politics. My old friend Don de la Vega often told me I should run for office, but I prefer to keep myself abreast of things without having the expectations of an elected official weighing me down."

Mañuelito must have been more irritated than he realized, for he found himself continuing to speak freely. "A man is measured by the company he keeps."

"That he is," General Mendoza spoke up with a strange air. "And I am proud to count Diego's family among my friends. Now, what can I do for you this fine morning?"

Well, he had come all this way. Might as well just come out and ask.

"Sir, it's about Zorro."

One white eyebrow lifted. "Indeed? What of him?"

"I have misgivings about cooperating with such an individual. He acts outside the law, and does not respect any form of authority!"

"But he never ignores the law," Mendoza pointed out. "And while he does not recognize any master's hand, the Fox is of benefit because he may act when our own hands are tied by the very things we seek to uphold."

This was not proving as helpful as Mañuelito had hoped. "Sir, I fear this could prove damaging to your reputation. What if the men begin to talk about your relationship with such an unsavory figure?"

In response, Mendoza leaned back in his leather armchair and crossed his hands over his stomach. "In truth, Colonel, the question of my involvement is not a new one. Are you aware that my great-great-grandfather was an officer in the California territories back in the days of Spanish rule? He was by no means a great man, but he was a decent one who believed deeply in his duty to uphold the law. Those were difficult times, and even representatives of the crown might prove unworthy and wicked. My ancestor suffered in silence obeying the orders he was given, even when he recognized they were causing more harm than good to the people."

"But even then, there was Zorro. Perhaps I should say, especially then. My great-great-grandfather encountered him on numerous occasions, and while officially they were enemies, at heart he was deeply thankful that there was someone who could not only perceive when evil was afoot, but also work to vanquish it altogether. He recorded his experiences with the Fox down in a journal, one that could have gotten him hanged for treason if it was ever brought to light. Nowadays it is required reading in my family, and no stigma attaches to it. Rather it is a source of pride to us, that we are a part of the legend of Zorro."

When his subordinate still appeared dismayed, General Mendoza rose and moved around the table to place a hand on his shoulder.

"It might not please you to hear this, but you are part of the legend as well now. Believe me, there is nothing you should feel ashamed of in this matter. The killer of my nephew has been brought to justice, while an even greater evil has been eradicated. I am as content as I could possibly be given this situation. Come, _amigo,"_ and he led him over to the bar. "Share a drink with me."

The older man poured two glasses of brandy and handed one over. Mañuelito accepted and examined the amber contents closely, then looked up. "What are we drinking to?"

"To good company," Mendoza responded. "And to all those who fight for justice."

This the colonel could not refuse, and they raised their crystal glasses to chime together a note so pure it could not help but lift his spirits.

Then the door suddenly opened, and Diego de la Vega stuck his head in.

"Excuse me, I think I'm lost, could you tell me how to…?" He stopped, blinking in surprise. "How did you two get here?"

_**FIN**_


End file.
